Throne of Nothing
by Lyxie
Summary: There's always a chance that the next moment will change everything. After the end, it's time to rebuild. Post BotW. Some spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1: Recover**

His princess was much changed.

She'd cried often before — before it, before everything, by Hylia, how could you even name what had happened? He'd tried. He couldn't. His mind still shied away from it. There weren't many — any? — who had been born twice. But he had been. Once only months ago. And once before.

So. Before. That's what he would call it.

Before, she had been brimming with emotion. Overflowing with it. The way she moved, the way she spoke, everything showed her feelings as clear as daylight. It had happened often that her body had betrayed her: he'd watched her, always four steps behind, as any proper servant would be, as she struggled to hide her feelings. Her anger, her frustration, her pain.

But that was Before. Now…

"Link."

The way she said his name, now, that was different than before, too: soft. Breathy. Before, he'd heard her say his name in so many different tones — amused, frustrated, heartbroken, bored — but never this. Never so weak and listless. As though the hundred years he'd spent sleeping had wrung her out, squeezing every last drop of feeling out of her. They'd defeated Calamity Ganon. Sealed him away, for good this time. But at what cost?

She sat out on the terrace of Impa's home. It had been only proper for the Princess of Hyrule to take up residence in the Sheikah elder's home. At least, that was what everyone insisted. The memories rattling around inside his head, the loyal vassal he'd been Before, echoed the sentiment. But the Link that he was now, the one who had awakened to learn the world anew, had objected violently to the idea of removing an old woman from her home.

So Link had kept quiet. That old habit, at least, served him well.

Holding to that same silence as gently as he would a small bird, Link trod forward, stopping a proper distance away, just within the Princess's periphery. He knelt, looking at her, waiting. If anyone could read him without speech, it was her.

But she wasn't looking at him. She wasn't looking at anything, actually. Her eyes were shut, her face tilted to the moon. The sun had set several hours ago, but neither of them had been able to find sleep. Him, because one hundred years of sleep had been enough, and he itched at the thought of lying down again. Her — well, who knew. Instead, she sat on the terrace, listening to the gentle clinking of the wooden windchimes, content to feel the midnight breeze on her face.

"Come closer."

He approached, two more careful steps, and knelt. Not at her side — not quite — but closer than was strictly proper.

At least, according to the rules of Before.

The princess's lips curved in what might have been called a smile, but she didn't speak or move otherwise. Link hated that stillness. She'd always been so vibrant. So full of life. Even at the most formal of functions, she'd been unable to suppress that liveliness. She'd always been moving, or tapping, or fidgeting. But that was Before.

Too much had happened. So much had changed. They were relics in a new world, and the rules were gone. Link hardly knew where he stood with this new, subdued princess.

It had only been a few days, he reminded himself. Only a few days since the princess had sealed the monster away once and for all. Everything had moved so quickly up until then that the quiet, the slowness, set Link to itching. His senses had been screaming at him constantly while Calamity Ganon still lived. Now that he was gone, Link was still jumpy. He hadn't had quiet, true quiet, since….

He cast around in his faulty memory once again. It wasn't all back. Most of it was still gone, would probably never return. But he knew, in the way that people who read books knew about events that had never touched them, that his father had been a knight, and that Link had made the choice to follow in the family footsteps. He'd been chosen by the Master Sword — the details of which he was still hazy on. But after the sword had chosen him, everything had followed quickly. The Champions. The princess's relentless training. And then, Calamity Ganon. A desperate flight straight into a meadow full of nightmare machines. Agony. And then….

"Link."

He blinked out of his reverie. The princess had turned her face away from the moonlight. She looked at him, her green eyes wide and sad in her face.

"I owe you an apology."

For what, Link wanted to ask, and he knew the question was in his eyes.

"My powers were unlocked too late," the princess said softly. "It was your death that triggered their release. I'm sorry. I wish I could have protected you."

Link swallowed.

"I lay the blame for my death at Ganon's door," he said. "I can't claim to know the will of the Goddess. But I'm here. You survived, and the people have lived on. Hyrule is a peace now. That's really all that matters."

Nearby, the wooden chimes clanked. The wind sighed through the trees.

"Yes," the princess agreed, so softly that Link might have mistaken her voice for a breeze. "The world is safe. What comes next, I wonder?"

Link didn't know. He'd seen in his travels how people dealt differently with disaster and grief. Some rebuilt. Some faded away into nothing. Some became consumed with rage. And all that he had seen, the princess had seen. She would know as well as him what the variables were, what the outcomes might be. But there was no sign of the future in the way she sat. She had turned her face back to the moon, empty of emotion. Link would have given anything to see some feeling — even tears — on her face. Not this pale nothingness. She looked too much like a corpse.

"It's getting colder," he said as a night breeze blew through, rattling the leaves on their trees. It was nearing the end of summer. Fall was on its way. The nights were not as warm as they had been even a week ago. "Perhaps you should go inside, princess."

"Will you scare me in with lightning?" she asked without opening her eyes. The humor was there, barely — but there.

"If you'd like, though I imagine it might damage some of the nearby houses. Impa might not be too happy about that."

"No," the princess agreed. "There's been quite enough destruction already."

She made no movement, no sign that she would go indoors. Link shifted. He didn't feel like sleeping. But the fine hairs on the princess's exposed forearms were raised as the night wind blew across her skin, and he was worried about her.

"I haven't felt air on my cheeks like this in a hundred years," she said after a long stretch of silence. Another emotion: remorse. Just a flicker. "Keeping everything contained…" She trailed away, as though she didn't wish to talk about it. Link didn't blame her. He couldn't imagine spending a century locked in battle with that beast. He'd barely managed to survive a few hours.

His princess was truly amazing.

"I had noticed," he said with careful casualness. "When I crossed the bridge into Hyrule Castle, the air became staler."

"Yes. It was a hole in time," the princess said, and did not elaborate.

After a long while, Link rose. He stepped inside to fetch a blanket — one of the thick, quilted ones for sleeping — and brought it back outside. The princess wore the garb of a proper Sheikah maiden, a thick silk robe tied at the waist with a colorful sash. Even that silk would not keep her warm forever.

Carefully, Link draped the blanket around his princess's shoulders. One pale, china-fragile hand reached up to catch a corner of the blanket, pulling it more tightly around her.

"Thank you, Link," she said softly.

Link had the feeling that she wasn't talking about the blanket.

—

Day by day, she improved.

The only time that they were not together was once a day when the Sheikah women hauled the princess off to the nearby hot springs for a long scrub. Their warriors, they assured Link, were quite adept. Nothing would happen to the princess. But old habits died hard, even if they weren't fully remembered habits, and so Link found himself compulsively pacing a steady patrol around the perimeter of the hot springs, far away enough to give his princess privacy, but close enough that he could be there within a heartbeat if needed.

She always came back from these expeditions pink-cheeked and dewy, her hair hanging wet down her back, her expression only slightly less blank. Her time with the local women was doing his princess some good.

One morning, after the princess had finished her breakfast and Link had discreetly gobbled a few roasted apples — never within sight of his princess, being seen eating by his mistress would be uncouth — she cleared her throat.

"I have decided upon a course of action," she said. Her voice wasn't as emotive, as decisive, as it had been Before, but a faint thread of that was there, buried beneath that horribly vacant exterior.

Link waited for her to continue speaking. She did not fail him.

"In your adventures, when you revoked a Divine Beast from Ganon's control, you freed the spirit of the Champion imprisoned within," the princess said. "But I believe there may be more spirits to free. As you may recall, the Guardians were not empty when Ganon seized control of them. Each one was piloted by a Hylian soldier. I wish to free them now that the danger has passed."

Link paused.

"I had thought that when you sealed Ganon away, you broke his hold on the Guardians."

"It's highly likely," Zelda agreed. "But we need to be absolutely certain. I wish to visit every Guardian in Hyrule and verify that there is no scrap of hostile power within it, and ward it from future possession. And we owe it to the people to make sure that their spirits are freed. Even one spirit left imprisoned is too many."

Link thought it through. It was a good idea for more reasons than one — It would give them something to do, something to focus on, rather than just sitting here, waiting. It was a huge task: there were many Guardians, and Hyrule was a very large kingdom.

"We can ask the five races to help us search," the princess said, as though she had read Link's mind. "It will be autumn soon, and after that will come winter. We have no plans for rebuilding Hyrule yet, and so it must wait. This is a good project in the meantime. It will bring the people together. Give them something to unite around. And then, once our bonds are stronger, we can begin working together to rebuild. What do you think?"

"It's a good idea," Link said.

"Thank you," his princess replied. "I'll have Impa's scribes draft letters to be sent to the leaders of each region. They, in turn, can distribute the messages to their people, and begin creating maps. You and I will travel to the locations on those maps, and purify any guardians in question. Because we'll work together on this, I wish for both of us to sign this decree. Will you do that?"

Link ducked his head respectfully.

"Of course, your highness," he said.

The princess paused. It wasn't her usual quiet — the grieving, empty kind — but more thoughtful. Link looked up and caught his princess studying him with… it might have been consternation.

"Don't bow your head like that to me again," she told him. "We are equals now."

"Highness, I hardly think so," Link pointed out before he could stop himself. "I'm a knight. You're the princess. Protocol aside, you are still the one who saved us. Even with this sword on my back, you outrank me."

"You're the only surviving champion and the hero who brought about the demise of Calamity Ganon," Zelda said. "I am the heir to a throne of nothing." Her eyes were steady on him. There was no sadness, self-pity, or anger in them. Only vacant acceptance. "We are equals," she repeated.

Link nodded slowly, more to appease her than anything else. He couldn't bring himself to agree.

—

The Sheikah had made her new garb that was exactly like the garb she wore Before.

Seeing her standing before him, her hair braided around her head in a crown, wearing that familiar clothing, hit Link like a punch to the gut. His legs stayed strong beneath him, somehow — but his surprise must have shown on his face because she smiled again, that small not-smile, and watched him with too-knowing eyes.

"It wasn't quite what I had in mind when I asked Impa for clothing I might walk and travel in, but I suppose it will do," his princess said in that soft new voice of hers. "How do I look?" she asked, turning one way, then the other.

You look like home, Link wanted to say. But he didn't understand the urge, so he suppressed it.

"You look very fine indeed, princess."

His princess nodded once, then turned. Her hair streamed behind her like a cape as she looked at the steep hills.

"You said there was something you wished to show me?" she asked. Link forced himself to start walking, moving one heavy foot in front of the other. Seeing her garbed as she had been a hundred years ago — strangely carefree days, for all that they'd been preparing for war — had caused something within him to crack and begin to bleed. He didn't know what it was. He didn't know why. All he knew was that his chest ached and his body itched to disobey him, to stop, to reach out, to do… something.

He continued forcing himself to walk.

"It's a bit of a hike," Link said by way of apology, leading his princess across the cleared grassy thoroughfare and up a side path. "It'll take us about an hour to get there." They passed by the statue of the Goddess. The princess paused for a moment, then shook her head and continued forward. Link, walking a proper distance away for all that they were beside each other, waited patiently. She had the blood of the Goddess running through her veins, Link remembered. He reminded himself to bring the princess to see the statue again at a later time.

Or perhaps not. He remembered how she had detested prayer at the end of their time together, back Before.

They walked together through the village, past the chicken coop and Claree's. Claree had insisted upon outfitting the princess with the very finest, most fashionable Sheikah gowns she had in her store, all at no charge. The princess had taken the gifts with grace and gratitude. Link personally wondered where that generosity had been when he had needed armor, but banished the uncharitable thought and focused on his princess instead.

They turned left up the hill that led to the shrine above the village. It was a long, steep climb, and though Link's legs were up to the task, he paused frequently so that his princess might rest. She was weak, surprisingly so — or perhaps unsurprisingly so, given that while he'd been sleeping and then, later, roaming around, she'd been imprisoned tightly, tucked on her knees, hands clasped in prayer, her body atrophying as her mind remained fully committed to the task. Link was only glad that she hadn't decayed like the gurus of the shrines had. He had been half-terrified that, upon freeing her from Ganon, she too would dissolve in green light, leaving Link utterly alone.

All praise to Hylia that his princess was still with him. Living, breathing, and broken — but here. The brokenness could be healed in time. At least, that was what he hoped.

"Is this what you wished to show me?" the princess asked as they reached Ta'loh Naeg Shrine. It glowed with a welcoming blue light.

"No, but we can stop and have a look around if you would like," Link told her. "We're about halfway to our destination, but the hill is the hardest part. We can take a break here to explore, if you want."

The princess ran the pads of her pale fingers down the weathered stone siding of the shrine.

"No, thank you," she said in her soft voice. "The shrines were never meant for me. Please, let's continue."

Remembering how his princess had tried to engineer her way into the old shrines — more than once, if his unreliable memory served correctly — he frowned at her back, but said nothing. Together, they curved past the shrine, up another hill, and into the forest above the Sheikah village.

"Nearly there," Link told her as he caught the glimpse of a pink fairy floating through the trees.

They rounded the bend and a meadow opened up before them. There, situated against the rocks, was the Great Fairy's Fountain, all pink splendor against the morning light.

"How lovely," the princess said softly, smiling. "I saw you visit this place, of course, but it's quite splendid in person."

"Yeah," Link grunted, clearing his throat. He hoped his princess didn't ask to summon the great fairy. Fairies, in his experience, were a little too hands-on in their work with him. "This isn't it either, though."

"Really?" the princess asked. She turned and faced him, confusion written clear across her face. "What is it, then?"

"Back here," Link said, leading her around the massive, firm flower petals. "Behind the fountain."

Nestled against the base of a tall tree, just beyond the shadow of the fairy fountain, a cluster of silent princesses grew.

"Oh," the princess said, half-exclamation, half-sigh. She fell to her knees before the flowers, cupping them in her palms.

"In my travels, I came across them many times," Link said. "And I remembered how you had fretted over them. They've taken root."

"Good," said his princess. She was smiling now, a real, genuine smile, directed at the little white and blue flowers. "I'm glad."

She was totally preoccupied by the plants — but she was showing a faint joy, so that was fine with Link. He gave her some space, letting her spend her time examining first the flowers, and then the other plants around the fountain. He laid out a sturdy blanket that he'd purchased back when he tamed his first horse, and on it he set some food he'd carefully packed away in his bag. Plates, forks, glasses, juice: all joined the little spread he set out for his princess.

"What's this?" She asked as she wandered over, her arms full of blue nightshade. In the dappled light of the meadow, they glowed faintly blue. "A picnic?"

"I thought you might like to have lunch in solitude," Link said as he withdrew a carefully folded napkin from the bottom of his bag. "You don't seem to care for being fussed over by the Sheikah."

The princess looked at Link askance, then settled down on her knees beside him. He took the flowers from her arms, bundling them gently with rough twine and setting them just beyond the meal, where they made a lovely little centerpiece.

"You never liked it when the servants fussed over you, either," Link said in response to her silence. "And after all that's happened, I thought that getting away from all the prying eyes might do you some good. Plus," he added as she watched him with that same level emerald stare, "if we stay here long enough, a blupee might show up. I've seen them bounding about in this forest before."

The princess turned her eyes from Link to the spread he had set out.

"It looks lovely," she said. A small frown creased her brow. "But you've only laid out a place for one."

Link paused, his hands stilling in the act of laying out forks in their proper position. For him to eat before her would be a violation of protocol. It would break the careful rules that bound them into their roles of liege and vassal.

Silence stretched between them like spreading water from a slow leak.

"I would like it very much," the princess finally said, "if you would join me in this meal."

Link inhaled through his nose. Then turned. Her green eyes were doe-large in her face. She was only seventeen. Or a hundred and seventeen. Though her skin was as unmarred as it had been the day she stepped into the castle alone to face the Calamity, her eyes told the story of every day that had passed in the century since.

"My princess, it isn't proper," Link finally responded.

"You said it yourself," she pointed out, tilting her head, sounding more like her old self than he'd heard in the weeks since they'd sealed Ganon away. "We are quite alone here. Well away from prying eyes. And besides, you know as well as I do that the old protocols died with…" she faltered. "With the Kingdom," she finished after swallowing thickly. Then, gentle as a butterfly landing on a branch, she pressed her fingers on his knee. "Please, Link."

It was the first time she'd touched him since Before. Awareness of her sparked through him like fire through a dry field. His leg burned — no, glowed — where she touched him. It spread through his veins, the warmth of her touch suffusing him. Was this her power at work? He wanted to fall at her feet and worship her.

She drew her hand away. The burn faded but the glow remained, pulsing through him like a fading echo.

"Of course," he said around a dry mouth, and pulled more plates from his bag.

While he'd become a perfectly adept cook, the food that they ate had not been prepared by him, but rather by one of the Sheikah elders. Salt-grilled meat, simmered fruit, and sweet leafy salads had been packed in bamboo bowls, their lids tied on with twine. To amuse his princess, Link told her of the Yiga clan's single enduring weakness: bananas, and how he had exploited that weakness and wreaked no small amount of chaos in their lair. She smiled at the appropriate points in the story — he wished she'd laugh as she used to — and picked delicately at her food. Had she eaten during her imprisonment? Link wasn't sure. He'd emerged from the Shrine of Resurrection as hungry as a bear after a two-year winter, and had been eating nonstop ever since. But his princess, he had noticed, ate like a bird: a few bites here, a few bites there, only to flutter away out of grasp once more.

It was early afternoon by the time they'd finished their leisurely picnic. Link noticed his princess blinking as he bundled away the dirty dishes and empty bamboo bowls. He smiled. He remembered that look from Before. She always got sleepy after meals.

"If you'd like to take a nap, please do so," he told her. "I can see you're tired. It's a lovely field, and we're safe here. I wouldn't mind spending a few hours resting, myself."

"But you won't," his princess said in her breathy, tired voice. "You'll stand guard, just like you always do."

"I'm your knight," he responded, standing to shake out the picnic blanket, freeing it of a few breadcrumbs that had slipped off of one of their plates. "It's my duty."

"You were my knight," the princess agreed, also clambering to her feet. "But now I'd rather have you for my friend and companion."

"Princess…" Link said slowly.

"I will nap," she responded, taking the blanket from Link. "But only protect me because you wish to, not because you believe you have to. You've already fulfilled your duties, Link. Once we have purged the Guardians, I will formally dissolve our arrangement and you will be free of me."

What if I don't want to be free of you, Link wanted to ask. But he didn't. The words caught in his throat, in the filter protocol had built there the day he'd been chosen by the sword. He was her vassal. He was the guardian of the goddess's avatar. She should not be forced to carry the weight of his opinion in addition to the guilt that already slumped her shoulders.

She'd never slouched Before.

"Please rest, my princess," Link finally said, watching her as she settled into a soft patch of thick grass. She wrapped the blanket around her like a cocoon, curling onto her side like a child. "It is my honor and pleasure to watch over you."

"Always so formal," she murmured. Quicker than he would have thought possible — especially given how much difficulty she had sleeping at night — she dropped off.

Even when the worst of the terrors had ravaged the land, this meadow had always been safe. That didn't keep Link from checking around the perimeter, looking out over the forest. Nothing, as expected. He passed a while patrolling in circles, wearing a loose path in the grass. As the sun's light changed from the white of morning to the gold of afternoon, he settled himself beside his princess's head. Even in sleep, the burden of her century of struggle shone on her face. It was as though the pale mask she wore when awake slipped away, and the grief she carried in her heart emerged. Carefully, his touch feather-light, Link brushed a loose strand of blond hair off of his princess's brow, as he'd once seen Urbosa do.

In her sleep, the princess sighed, and turned her face into his hand.

The feel of her skin against his was even more powerful than the touch of her fingers against his clothed knee, for all that she was sleeping. Link had consumed more spicy food and warming elixirs than he cared to admit when he'd been scouring the Gerudo Highland, Hebra Mountains, Tabantha Tundra, and Lanayru Peaks for shrines or clues to his lost memory. If Link had only had the touch of his princess to warm him back then, he was quite certain he would have needed none of the potions or the armor to keep him warm. More likely, he would have melted the snow with the power of the fire that swept through him at the feel of her skin on his.

"No…" she murmured. Link shook himself from his contemplation and looked down at the sleeping princess. The grief was clearer on her face than ever, so plain that Link thought his own heart might crack apart with the force of it. "I'm sorry. I failed you. And now you have no grave. Forgive me."

She was dreaming of the champions, then. Or possibly her father.

"I forgive you," Link said softly, knowing it to be the truth. His princess had never mentioned seeing the dead, though she'd made references to Link's experiences with them. He had concluded that none of the deceased had been able to reach the princess through the force of their imprisonment, and then through the compulsion to execute their duty. He thought he'd sensed them at the castle, after Ganon had fallen, but now…

Now, they appeared to be gone, just as the gurus of the shrines had vanished once their duties were fulfilled.

His princess had stilled at the sound of Link's voice, the grief easing off her face slowly. He withdrew his hand from her carefully, missing the glow of her touch the moment it vanished. Perhaps this was why she wouldn't — or couldn't — sleep at night, Link thought. She was plagued by nightmares.

He resolved to find a way to help ease her guilt.

—

"I had forgotten," the princess said to him out of the blue a few afternoons later. They'd borrowed some horses and gone on a preliminary expedition to the foothills north of the dueling peaks. Link knew for a fact that there had been active Guardians in that area recently — he had vivid memories of being shot at while swearing and scrambling his way up a mountainside — and he and the princess had figured that day was as good as any other day for getting started. Now, they rode together across those rolling green hills, the crisp wind cool across their cheeks.

"What had you forgotten?" Link asked, pulling lightly at the reins of his horse, which had a mind of its own. He reached around to soothe the beast, murmuring comfortingly in one of its long ears.

"You bought a house," the princess said. "And built a town, did you not?"

Link cleared his throat.

"I did buy a house," he finally said. "The town thing… I only helped with that."

"Hmm," his princess hummed, smiling her not-smile. She wasn't looking at him. Simply looking out at the world, as she so often did — as though she couldn't quite believe it was there, was afraid to grasp it with both hands.

They rode in silence for a while longer. The silences were growing more familiar. She'd talked a mile a minute back Before, but now, she seemed to be content without words. Link, who had spent so much of his travels in silence, welcomed the company. And he wished his princess would speak.

"Why did you do it?" the princess finally asked. "Buy a house?"

Link shifted uncomfortably. Why had he done it? He thought about it. Thought about his answer. His princess waited patiently for him to marshal his thoughts.

"Part of it was pragmatism," Link finally said. "I needed a place to rest. Store my gear. It was near a shrine, so I could get there quickly and easily using the Sheikah slate. Having a house meant I could rest when I needed, keep some of my more sensitive gear so I wouldn't carry it into battle — all that." Link trailed into silence.

"And the rest of it?" the princess asked after a while had passed. "What was the rest of the reason why you bought the house?"

Link thought about it. Inhaled, then exhaled a puff of air on a long sigh.

"I wanted a place of my own," he said. "Not for hiding. But… I wanted that tie to this era. To plant my flag in the ground and show that this age was mine, too."

"I see," the princess said softly. They rode in silence for a while longer.

"I'd like to see it," she said eventually. "Your home."

"My home," Link repeated. He looked at her. She was studying the pommel of her saddle. He could tell it meant a lot to her. So he answered in the only way he could think of. "Of course," he said. "Whenever you want."

The wreckage of a Guardian rose up just beyond a green hill, and they slowed their mounts, the princess's dappled grey whickering unhappily at the bit. That reminded Link of another thing — something he'd promised to do, but hadn't yet done.

They dismounted from their borrowed horses, treading carefully towards the Guardian. Link made sure his princess remained safely behind him as he pulled the master sword from its sheath just a few inches so he could more easily draw it. But the Guardian stayed silent as they neared it. No ominous chiming, no groaning to life. Just emptiness.

They stood before it. It did not respond.

"Nothing," the princess said. She pressed her hands against the stone. The Guardian began to glow a faint, familiar blue. Friendly. Its hatch clicked open, and Link and the princess clambered up to look inside.

A green spirit crouched above its bones, disoriented and blinking in the daylight.

"Princess?" it asked after a moment. "Is this real? I've been trapped in here for so long…"

"You're free now," the princess said. "Go and be at peace." But before she'd even finished speaking, the spirit had begun to dissolve, flickering into green mist, then sparkling away into nothingness.

The bones, however, were another matter.

"We should bury him," the princess said sadly. "He died in service to Hyrule."

"We'll need a graveyard," Link answered. "We can't bury people just anywhere. We'll need to plan it with the rest of the races — they all lost warriors."

His princess watched him with that level green gaze, so Link continued.

"Our warriors' bones have waited a hundred years. They can wait a while longer for a proper rest."

Slowly, the princess nodded.

"Very well," she agreed. "That will do."

The hatch of the Guardian groaned shut. The air around it seemed a little warmer for the spirit's absence.

As they walked back to the horses, the princess paused, looking out over the kingdom. The wreckage of the castle lay in the distance, a blackened, burned-out husk. The Sheikah Slate hung at the princess's hip, swinging gently against her legs as they stopped walking and turned to stare at the view. The four divine beasts rose in the distance, silhouetted against the sunny, blue sky. The princess pulled the Sheikah Slate from her hip, looking down at it for a moment, and then back out at the view.

"We'll make our way to Zora's Domain," she finally said, speaking more to herself than to Link. "Divine Beast Vah Ruta has stopped working. Let's investigate the situation." She perked up, then deflated just as quickly. "Mipha's father…" she murmured, arms relaxing, Sheikah Slate still warm in her grasp. "I believe he would like to hear more about her. The least we can do is visit him and offer him some closure."

Link waited. This was the first time she'd spoken of traveling beyond the boundaries of Kakariko. She seemed to have reached a breakthrough. Her emerald gaze fixed on the spires of the castle where she'd been held prisoner so long.

"Although Ganon is gone," she said, startling Link — it was the first time she'd named the evil since they'd tiredly told Impa that all was over, "— there's still so much more for us to do, and so many painful memories we must bear." Her voice broke on the last word, and it was all Link could do to keep himself for reaching from his princess to comfort her. But what she was saying seemed to free her, because she kept going. "I believe in my heart, that if all of us work together, we can restore Hyrule to its former glory. Perhaps…" she paused, searching for words, then continued, "even beyond. But it all must start with us."

Link looked at his princess. Her shoulders were tense as she looked out at the land, and then they relaxed. There was a softening of her features too as she said, voice lighter than he'd heard it yet, "Let's be off."

She strode towards their horses. Link lingered a moment behind her, watching her go. She was strong, his princess. He set off, following her at a slow pace. He would follow her always, anywhere, to death and beyond.

A few paces away from the horses, she stopped. She didn't slouch — not quite — but she stiffened.

"I… can no longer hear the voice inside the sword," she said as her waterfall of golden hair shifted in the gentle breeze. "I suppose it would make sense if my power had dwindled over the past one hundred years," she added. She paused for a moment, then turned, looking at Link. Her expression was so solemn, green eyes so sad, that he paused.

Then she smiled, a true smile, brighter than even the one she'd given the flowers. Link felt the sun brighten above him.

"I'm surprised to admit it," she said, "but I can accept that." And then she laughed, a little laugh that froze Link in his footsteps a moment longer. She looked lighter than she had since Before. Freer. And she was smiling, really smiling.

He began to run towards her, then caught himself, and slowed to a more sedate pace. She smiled at him once more before setting out with him towards the horses. The wind blew flower petals around them — the last flowers of the summer, Link was certain— as they mounted up.

"We'll leave at the end of next week," his princess said. "Go to Zora's Domain first. And then, on our way back, we can go to Hateno and see your home."

"As you wish," Link agreed, his own pain resting easier than it had in a century.

—

The day they left for Zora's Domain, Link brought his princess another surprise.

It had taken him almost a full week to arrange it — several days of absence from Her, which he'd hated. But Impa had promised that his princess would be well guarded as she made arrangements for traveling, and his task was important.

"Is that…" the princess said slowly as Link approached, "Is that Wraith?"

"One of his descendants," Link agreed, running a fond hand over the pure-white horse's proudly arched neck. In truth, he was the exact image of the princess's old horse, Wraith, especially in the royal gear that Link had wheedled from the old man at Outskirt Stable. Finding That Damn Horse had taken some time, as had taming it. Fortunately, Link had been able to work on the second while riding the beast back towards Kakariko. Though he had barely slept since setting out on his small quest, the look of delight in his princess's eyes made all the trouble, exhaustion, and pain worth it.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Animated and alive, his princess flung herself into Link's arms. He gave a low woof of pain as she slammed into the ribs That Damn Horse had injured in a kicking fit, and the princess pulled back in alarm.

"Link," she said, "you're hurt."

"Just a bruise," he responded, smiling down at the princess. "It's nothing."

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling with subdued happiness. Link didn't know when his arms had come down to settle around her, but the way she was looking at him — as though he were the only man in the world, as though he were the sun — it made him warm. Hot. He carefully pulled away.

"He's a swift beast, and wild-tempered to boot," Link cautioned his princess as she nearly walked over to the horse. It was worth it — everything — to see her looking so happy. "If he starts to give you trouble, just soothe him. And if he's too much of a brute, we can swap horses. I did my best to train him on the ride over, but…"

"I'm sure he and I will get along just fine," the princess said softly, inspecting her horse. "Do you have any other surprises that you'd like to give me?"

Link thought of the two journals he'd grabbed from Hyrule Castle and tucked in his armor before fighting Ganon. He'd gotten blood on them, but having her words so close to his heart — it had given him strength.

"If I did," he finally made himself say, "don't you think I'd surprise you with them another day?"

The princess shot a look at him over her shoulder, a little arch, and then smiled. It was a small smile, but a real one. Her eyes were still full of joy from the return of her horse.

"You spoil me," she told Link. She swung into the saddle, and though the horse had pranced and shifted for Link, he sat as steady as a rock and docile as a sleeping lamb for the princess.

"What will you name him?" Link asked as he swung onto his own horse. A Sheikah handed Link the reins to a pack mule, and he took them with thanks.

"Oh," the princess said, still smiling. "I don't know yet. I'll have to think about it. Have you been calling him anything?"

"Horse," Link responded. "Damn Horse, occasionally."

The princess laughed, the sound musical and giddy. Link sent a prayer of thanks to the Goddess for the horse.

With a few more words to their hosts, they loaded up the last of their things — including a large basket full of food — and left. It would be a few hours' ride to the Dueling Peaks stable. Depending on how the princess felt, they would stop there overnight, though Link wasn't keen to do so and he was sure his princess felt similarly. It was too close to that field where the princess's sealing powers had awoken in such a horrible way.

If they didn't stop at Dueling Peaks, they'd likely journey into the evening to cross the Proxim Bridge and camp in the wreckage of the East Post Ruins. There was a cookpot there, and Link could easily forage some dinner for them in the surrounding woods and wetland. From there, it would be another day's journey north to the Wetland Stable, where they would board their horses; from there, they would meet a group of Zoras prepared with a raft to take them upriver to Zora's Domain. Link had tried to convince the princess to take the Sheikah Slate and warp to the Ne'ez Yohma shrine, and let Link catch up with her using the paraglider, but she had refused.

She said she wanted to travel, to see the country. Link could empathize with that.

They wound up stopping for a late picnic lunch in the shadows of the dueling peaks. The river ran cool and quiet beside them, its burbling the only noise that broke the silence between the two. Though she clearly didn't wish to say so, the princess was tired, and Link insisted she rest for an hour while he cleaned, broke down camp, and caught a few fish for dinner. True to his word, he woke her an hour later, and they were off again. They reached the stable after nightfall, and paid the stable workers there to tend to their horses. A quiet exchange of money guaranteed them a private room in the attic, and free access to the cookpot, where Link cooked up a quick seafood stew. When the princess wasn't looking, he threw in a few stamella shrooms: the day's journey had taken its toll. Link resolved to keep her stronger tomorrow.

The last of the sunset fireflies were buzzing away as autumn truly fell. As their dinner sat heavy in their stomachs and they looked out on the night world with all of its evening noises, the princess finally spoke.

"Hopeful," she said.

"What?" Link asked, turning to look at her. She had her arms loosely clasped around her knees as she sat on a treestump, gazing up at the night sky with bright eyes.

"The horse. I'd like to name him Hopeful."

Link studied her expression for a moment. She looked content. Like she was healing.

Like she was hopeful.

"I like it," he finally said, and was rewarded by the curve of her smile.

—

If travel had been good for the princess, working on the Divine Beast and facing up to Mipha's father had set her back several steps.

It had been a painful interview — painful, because both parties so clearly wished to be anywhere but where they were. While the Zora King was glad for stories of his daughter, the princess's anguish — raw, real grief, her guilt that Mipha had died because of the Hylian princess's failings (or so she believed) — seemed to trigger his own. No small amount of tears were shed.

In the words of the Zoras, their sadness thickened the water and fed the fishes with salt. And there was nothing Link could do to protect his princess from that pain.

If facing the Zora King had been difficult for the princess, entering Vah Ruta and seeing the many scars of battle that it bore within nearly broke her. She wept the whole time they were within the beast, the bitter salt dripping down her cheeks. She wouldn't allow herself comfort, though Link would have been happy to take her into his arms as he had so frequently near the end, back Before. Instead, she'd stood, spine ramrod straight, and gotten to work, eyes puffy and weeping and cheeks splotched the whole time.

Link was glad when they finally left Zora's Domain a week later.

They headed directly to Hateno Village, making good time. The princess didn't smile at all on this trip, and her hands tightened on Hopeful's reins as on the second day they passed Blatchery Plain, the site of so much unpleasantness so many years ago. The princess insisted on stopping and checking every last one of the Guardians for spirits and remains. These, however, had been purified when she unlocked her sealing power, and neither spiritual nor physical remnants of the soldiers who had died in the machines lingered.

They'd left the East Post Ruins before dawn, where already it seemed a hub for travelers was forming, now that the world was safe. Link wondered how long before the word "Ruins" was removed and it was simply the East Post. Probably not for some years yet. The sun was reaching its zenith, and Link's stomach, ever-persistent, was growling for food.

"Princess," he finally said as she prayed and grieved over the field. "Come eat. If we leave soon, we can reach Hateno by midnight." He didn't like to push her body as hard as they were, but Link believed what she needed most was the space to heal. Their first expedition, with her still so raw, was not what Link would call a success.

"Thank you, Link," his princess said as he pulled her gently away from the old wreckage. He stuffed a pastry into her hands and watched as she ate the whole thing, then fed her another, and downed a flask of juice that Link had mixed with stamina potion. His princess made a face as she handed the flask back to Link, and they continued on their journey.

It was just before midnight, the crescent moon arching above them, when they rode out of the Ginner woods and up the hill to Hateno. Link could see his princess's surprise as they rode towards the blocky new construction that sat atop the first hill in the village. He grinned to himself as they crossed the bridge over the Firly Pond and reached his own little corner of Hyrule. It was dark, but glow lamps shone cheerfully inside. When they'd passed through the Riverside Stable on their way to Zora's Domain, Link had paid a courier to send a message to Purah that he and a friend would be returning within the next two weeks, and to please find a housekeeper to make the house ready for them.

They stabled the horses and pack mule in their little lean-to, combing them down well and treating them to fresh oats. Link closed the little gate he had asked Bolson to install on the bridge so the horses wouldn't wander away, and then showed his princess into his home.

"It's not much," Link told her, looking around.

"Are those…." She paused, then drew closer to the weapons displayed on the wall. "Did those belong to…"

"The Champions, yes," Link agreed. "The weapons were given to me by their respective peoples once I got each of the Divine Beasts under control. I used each weapon for a bit — that's what our friends would have wanted — but I also wanted to preserve them. So once I got this house, I decided to store them here for safekeeping."

"I see," the princess said, running her finger carefully along the flat edge of the Scimitar of the Seven. She was smiling sadly. He knew how she had loved Urbosa. "You're right. They would have liked that."

While his princess remained distracted by the weapons, Link filled the teakettle with fresh water — brought in earlier that day, from the looks of it, thank Hylia for friends like Purah — built up a fire in his fireplace, and began to make tea. He carried his princess's bags upstairs to the sleeping area, setting her things where she could easily find them, and then went back downstairs to the hearth. A small cot waited for him in the corner, and Link made another mental note to take some ancient parts to Purah in thanks. Then Link turned attention to his houseguest. The princess had seated herself on a low stool at an angle to the fire, and was staring pensively into the flames.

"You've accomplished so much," she finally said moodily. "And I so little."

Link remembered Urbosa chastising the princess — chastising her the last time they'd seen each other, in fact, telling the princess not to feel sorry for herself.

Instead of following in Urbosa's lead that way, he did something else that she would have done.

He was going to touch her.

"Don't," he said, voice low. He knelt before his princess, said a prayer for bravery, then carefully reached out, tenderly lifting his princess's hands from where they rested limply in her lap. He squeezed her fingers with his own, and sparkling heat suffused him. "Don't do this to yourself, princess. We all suffered, sacrificed, and accomplished things. You more than anyone."

"Me?" she asked bitterly. "How can you say that? If only I'd—"

"Yes," Link agreed, cutting her off. "If only your powers had unlocked sooner, far fewer people would have died. But that's not what happened, and there's nothing we can do about it now. But."

Link paused, taking a deep breath.

"You saved me. You kept me from dying, and you carried on the fight. You fought for a hundred years. You held on, all on your own, for a full century, princess. That's no small feat. You kept the world safe, kept the damage contained, kept me — all of us — alive to fight the battle again. And though I might have weakened the Calamity, you — Zelda, Princess of Hyrule — were the one who defeated him and banished him forever. Don't sell yourself short. Hyrule has you to thank for its survival."

The princess had gone very still, her eyes fixed on Link's shoulder. He took another fortifying breath, then continued.

"I can't imagine," he finally said. "I can't imagine what it was like. What you went through, trapped in there, with that… that thing. I am in awe of your strength. I may be courageous, but I'm nothing next to you. So please. Don't beat yourself up anymore. We all have failings to answer for. But we're atoning. And that has to be enough.

"We lived. So we can't carry on as though we wish we hadn't. It disgraces the fallen. The champions, our friends — they wanted us to live. To live on. So that's what we need to do."

The princess looked at him for a long time. Then, finally, she leaned forward, resting her head against the shoulder she had stared at. Though her breathing was carefully normal, a moment later, he felt hot tears soaking through the fabric of his clothing. Their arms were trapped between them — carefully, Link disentangled, then embraced his crying princess.

She wept for a long, long time.

At last, her tears slowed. She drew in a gulp of air, a great big shuddering breath, and then said into the fabric, her voice muffled: "Thank you, Link."

"You're welcome, princess," he said, stroking the waterfall of golden hair that tangled around them both.

"Say it again," she said quietly, from the vicinity of his collarbone.

"You're… welcome?" Link asked. A watery, hiccuping chuckle drifted up to Link's ears.

"No," she said. "My name. You said my name. I don't think you've ever said it before."

Link drew in a deep breath.

"It slipped out," he said. "I didn't — the protocol —"

"Hang the rules, Link," the princess said, finally peering up at him with red-rimmed eyes — a familiar sight from Before. "Anyone who cared about that sort of thing is long dead and buried. When we rebuild, we'll build new rules, too. And out here, in this little village nobody knows who I am. So please. Say it again. Call me by my name."

Link took another nervous breath. His stomach was full of butterflies. Purah would know who the beautiful blonde visitor would be… but the little Sheikah had never been much for the rules. Did he dare cross this delicate line?

He looked down at his princess's face, stubborn and hopeful and waiting as though the next words he said could give her new life. And the decision was made. The line was crossed. There would be no going back from this.

"Zelda," he finally said. "You are Zelda."

"Yes," she agreed, and leaned her forehead back against his shoulder. It took a long time for Link to slow the rapid tattoo of his heart — part excitement, part instinctive terror: even as Champion of Hyrule, such familiarity with the princess would have caused him to be stripped of his title and honors at best and put to death at worst. But once he'd calmed, once he could think clearly, he realized that the princess was right. Here, at least — in Hateno — nobody (other than Purah) knew who she was. Nobody had to know. They could simply… be for a while. Not the king's daughter and her chosen knight. Not the Champion and the Princess with the Sealing Power. Just two people. Zelda. And Link.

He began to smile. There really was a very good reason why his princess — Zelda, she was Zelda — was the brains of the operation, he thought. And when he looked down to tell her so, he realized she had fallen asleep. Dirty tear-tracks still marred her face. She hadn't washed off after traveling. Well, Link thought, a little dirt wouldn't kill the sheets. She could rinse off in the morning.

Gathering her into his arms — she really weighed no more than a feather, even after his continuous feeding of her — he carried her up the stairs to the modest loft, and laid her down to rest in his bed.

—

The next day, the princess slept late and awoke mid-morning, yawning and blinking.

Link had already been to the village to beg a few eggs from his neighbors, and to make arrangements for Bolson to build more furniture. Link could do many things related to fighting and survival, but constructing his own furniture was not one of the areas in which he had ever had need to work on that particular skillset. He'd only bought the house recently and hadn't had time to learn to build things, and Before…

Before, he'd been a knight, and the son of a knight. That meant that his father had been titled and landed. So someone had built all their furniture for them.

Regardless, Link didn't mind parting with his hard-won money for a little help. He'd managed to accrue a small fortune in the course of his adventures, and being free with his money and favors had only benefitted him. The people of Hateno knew to give the rich traveler his space, and didn't ask too many questions. He was hoping that would work in his favor now that the princess, Zelda, was in residence at his home.

He hoped the tongues wouldn't wag too much.

Link had hesitated to leave his princess alone while she slept, but Hateno Village was safe. Though he'd encountered roaming Yiga before outside its borders, they never ventured into the village proper — likely because of the zapping, sparking wards laid down by Purah at the village's edge. Scientist though she may be, she was still a Sheikah, and could cast a mean protection spell. Link had felt another of Purah's spells on the property that he'd purchased. She'd warded it so that he and his guests would be safe from any ill intent.

So, without too much concern aside from the fact that it went against every ounce of training he'd received in the royal guard, Link went into town, made arrangements, purchased food, bought a few simple frocks for his princess, and headed home, hoping that she hadn't awoken yet.

In fact, she hadn't. She didn't rise until the smell of cooking eggs and ham drifted up to the loft. She poked her head over the side, expression bleary, hair a tousled mess, face still a little swollen from the previous night's tears.

"Is that breakfast I smell?" she asked as Link poked at the cookpot placed over the deep hearth.

"It is," Link said. He hefted a jug of warm tea as well. "Want to come down?"

The princess grunted in the affirmative, and then emerged a moment later, a thick blanket wrapped around her mussed traveling clothes. Autumn was coming early to the mountains, and the air coming in through the open downstairs windows was pleasantly cool. Though down in the lowlands it was still the balmy end of summer, here it was brisk, the leaves changing color, the wind off the Necluda Sea surprisingly chilly. Link made a list in head of places around the village where he wanted to take his princess while the weather held.

"Here," Link said, making up a plate for his princess. He'd gotten good at predicting what kinds of portions she would eat, and ladled her food out accordingly. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you," she said, tracing a finger across the wooden tabletop. "I don't think I've slept that well since — well, since." She took a drink of tea, savoring the brew with shut eyes. Something about the sight caused Link's heart to lurch in his chest, a pleasant sort of double-thump that took his breath away.

"Once we're finished eating," Link forced himself to say, laying a plate for himself — his princess had been very specific about her new preference for sharing her meals with him, and he could oblige her here, in the privacy of his home — "I'll take you to the nearby hot springs so you can rinse off. Then, if you like, we'll go to the lab."

She perked up a little, opening one green eye and looking at him.

"Lab?" she asked with interest.

"There's a research lab here," Link said offhandedly. "Dedicated to understanding the ancient technology."

"Ah," the princess said with a smile. "That's right. With the little girl." She shut her eyes again. Her response confirmed what Link had inferred: that even though she'd watched over him every step of his journey, she had in truth only seen, and not heard — otherwise she would know that the so-called little girl was in fact their old friend Purah.

"Thank you for your kind words yesterday, Link," she said in her insubstantial voice as she took another close-eyed sip of her tea. "My heart feels far lighter. You told me precisely what I needed to hear. Thank you."

"You're welcome, my…." Link trailed off, tongue tied. Her eyes opened, her brows raised, and she watched him expectantly until he amended, "Zelda."

She smiled again, that sunshine smile, and Link's heart did another one of those double-thumps in his chest. Then she looked at her mug of tea — empty — and frowned at it sorrowfully.

"Here," Link said, reaching across the table to take her mug. In the time it took him to refill her drink and set it back before her, she'd begun to eat, and he didn't want to disrupt her.

"I went into town while you slept this morning," he told her. "I arranged for some more furniture to be made for the house, so we should have another bed soon. And I got you a present," he added, nodding at a soft parcel wrapped with linen and tied with rough brown string.

"What is it?" the princess asked once she had finished chewing a mouthful of eggs.

"A few frocks," Link responded. "All you packed for our trip were trousers and work clothes, and I thought you might like something softer to wear, to help you look a little less obtrusive here."

His princess smiled at him softly. "That's very thoughtful of you."

They finished their breakfast, and the princess went to unwrap her gowns. There were three of them: one each in blue, gray, and green, the preferred colors of the people of Hateno. His princess chose the gray gown and grabbed some underthings from her pack, and then they set off for the nearby hot spring. It was mercifully devoid of people, and Zelda shooed Link away so she could disrobe and slip into the water with a soft sigh.

"There's a bath house in town as well," Link told her some time later, keeping his back turned to her as she splashed in the water. "But today is the men's day at the bath house, and I figured you'd want to rinse off the travel dirt today."

"Yes, thank you," she said, the water splashing lightly as she turned to her ablutions. Link waited as he always had whenever she was tending to something personal: his back to her, senses on high alert, tip of his sword resting against the ground as he watched for anything that might disturb his princess.

Link remembered standing this way with her dozens of times as she prayed. He'd done his best to be as unobtrusive as possible, guarding his princess with his body as best he could, and trying hard not to hear her whispered prayers.

But, of course, he always heard everything.

Thankfully, there were no tears this time. Instead, quiet splashing and the occasional drift of the princess's lilting hum as she scrubbed herself drifted to his ears. Link had positioned himself downhill of the spring, squarely in the path that ran between two steep rock walls. Fortunately, the hot spring was remote, and nobody disturbed his princess's peace. After half an hour, he heard her splash her way out of the water. Fabric rustled as she dried herself off, then dressed herself.

"Alright, Link," she said. "It's safe for you to come back now."

Link turned. His princess buckled the wide belt around the gray dress and smoothed down the embroidered apron that fell down her front. She hadn't let down her hair, which she had braided around her head in a thick coronet to keep dry. A basket beside her held her dirty laundry, plus the little sand scrub she'd used to scour herself.

"How do I look?" she asked Link, looking up. The dove gray of her dress brought out the startling brilliance of her eyes, and with her cheeks flushed pink from the spring and her golden hair braided around her head, she looked like a nobleman's dream of what a country girl should be.

"You're missing something," Link said. He moved to the side of the meadow and picked a few little flowers. His princess tilted her head to the side as he approached, the delicate white blooms held careful in his fist.

"Link?" she asked him.

"Hold still," he told her with a grin. With gentle fingers, he slid the little white flowers into her braid, then stepped back.

"There," he said. "You look perfect."

She gave him the strangest look, then flushed and smiled shyly.

"Thank you," she said. She stooped, reaching for her basket, but Link beat her to it, sweeping it up and over an arm.

"I can carry that myself, you know," she told him.

"I know," Link said lightly, not handing the basket back. He nodded down the path to the village. "We can drop your clothes at the pond where village women do laundry. It's on the way to the lab."

"Is the lab that structure I noticed this morning?" the princess asked. "Up on the hill behind the village?"

"Yes," Link agreed. "It'll take us around two hours to walk there from the village, unless you'd rather take the horses?"

"No," the princess said. "Let's walk."

They set off back down the hill, the princess leading the way as she always did. As they re-entered the village, she noticed one of the many lanterns lining the path.

"Why does it burn with a blue flame?" she asked Link, falling in beside him as they entered the crowded streets. Link was uncomfortable having her walk beside him — it was entirely improper, given the differences in their station — but walking behind her would draw far more attention to them than walking beside her. So he choked down his remembered panic and forced an easy smile.

"That's ancient flame," Link told her. "The Sheikah left an ancient furnace out here. It's what powers the lab."

"Mm," Zelda said. She pursed her lips, clearly trying to remember. "You were sent to retrieve that flame, weren't you?"

"Right," Link agreed. "And I rekindled the lanterns on the way."

The princess hummed her agreement. At the little pond near the center of town, Link released the basket to one of the local women who washed clothes there, with the request that she return it to his home and the promise of payment upon receipt. The woman looked in surprise from the princess back to Link, and then nodded.

"Of course, Traveler," she said.

Link thanked her, and did his best not to jump out of his skin when he felt a smooth hand loop itself through the crook of his elbow where the basket had previously rested. That same sensation, the glowing like fire, suffused him. Link wondered if he was creating a beacon so bright it could be seen from Hebra.

"To the lab, now?" the princess asked, leaning against Link. He swallowed thickly. She touched him so easily, so casually, as though it didn't have the same effect on her as it did him. And yet… he'd watched her for far too long, back Before, that he could easily read the subtle changes in her. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes were sparkling. And her breathing was a little lighter than usual.

Well. Maybe it — whatever it was — affected her too. Though there was another explanation as well. She'd been a century without touch. He wouldn't deprive her of it now.

"Yes," Link agreed, gesturing with his free hand. They left the small square and the washerwomen who watched them go with curious eyes, then put their heads together immediately — likely to gossip about who the woman was that their Traveler had brought home.

They passed the inn, and Link amused his princess by telling her stories about catching crickets to help a local boy woo one of the girls who worked at the inn. She laughed, as he'd hoped she would, and they slowly passed through the outskirts of the village, winding their way up the tall hill towards the research laboratory.

The traveling and food had made his princess stronger, and they didn't have to stop as often as before, when they'd scaled the hills outside of Kakariko to reach the Great Fairy's Fountain. Still, they paused several times, often so Zelda could survey the breathtaking views. It was just after noon when they reached the lab at last: smoke puffed out the tall chimney, the ancient fire burned brilliantly blue in the hearth, and cheerful music wafted out, along with the sound of a child's shout.

Link rapped on the door a few times, then poked his head in.

Purah was standing on her stool, imperiously pointing at a sparking pile of… rocks? Her assistant, Symin, was frantically trying to put out a brilliantly green fire that bloomed around the mess.

"Ah, Link," Purah said, dancing a little jig on her stool and striking a pose. "Welcome back. How was your travel? Who's this mysterious friend?"

Link opened the door more fully and stepped in, his princess just behind him. She peered around his shoulder and smiled at the child.

"Hello," she said softly.

Purah stared at Zelda. Then back at Link. Then at Zelda some more. Then, she let loose with a loud wail, erupting into tears as she flung herself off the stool.

"Princess!" she sobbed, throwing herself against the princess's legs. "I thought I would never see you again! Link, how could you surprise me like this?"

"Pardon?" his princess asked, dropping down to a crouch so she was level with the child. "I'm afraid I don't recognize you."

"Of course you don't recognize me," Purah wailed. "I messed up an experiment and started aging backwards. It's me, Princess. It's Purah!"

"Purah?" Zelda gasped. She covered her mouth with her hands, looking up at Link with wide green eyes. He smiled at the look on her face and nodded.

His princess turned back to her old friend. Without a second thought, she flung her arms around the child and began to weep as well.

Link decided to leave them to it and put his mind to helping Symin put out the fire.

"So that's the long-lost princess, eh?" he asked with a grunt, flapping a blanket over the flames in an attempt to smother them. "None of us knew she'd survived."

"She's still recovering," Link said, wishing he hadn't left his fireproof gear back in his home's little storage shed. Maybe he should loan it to poor Symin. "We're keeping the news quiet."

"So where have you two been?" the bulky man asked, puffing a strand of white hair out of his soot-streaked face. The green flames were dying down, though the sobbing on the other side of the room seemed to have mixed with laughter somehow as the two women greeted each other after so long apart.

"Kakariko, mostly," Link said. "With a brief trip to Zora."

"How'd it go?" Symin asked. The last of the fire went out with a coughing poof, and he rocked back on his heels, exhaling in relief.

"Not well," Link replied. "She had trouble in Kakariko, too. I'm hoping that she'll be able to find the space and quiet she needs to heal out here."

"Mm," agreed Symin. "Hateno's a quiet place. They don't pay too much mind to what's going on in Hyrule Proper. It's a good notion. And the harvest festival is the week after next. A little celebration may be good for her."

"Harvest festival?" Link asked. "What'll it be like?"

"Lotta pumpkins," Symin said. "Candies, dances, and a bonfire."

Link cast back in his memory. He remembered balls — stuffy affairs spent wearing his finest uniform and standing behind his princess, who sat upon her throne and tapped her foot in boredom. Nobody dared ask her to take a turn with them — but Link also remembered seeing her frolicking around, doing leaps and spins in her lab or out in meadows.

He would find out if his princess liked to dance.

Link and Symin talked a bit longer, Link keeping an eye on his princess as she caught up with Purah. It had been so long since they had seen each other, and so much had happened — well, to Purah, at least, and the girl-woman was talking a mile a minute, with Zelda nodding encouragingly and asking the occasional question. Link had heard them talking about all that had happened in Purah's life, including the experiment that accidentally reversed her aging process. At the mention of the Age of Burning Fields, the princess's expression darkened, and Link excused himself from Symin to come to her rescue, as he always would.

"— and of course, all the crops going up in smoke led to quite the famine, and—"

"Purah," Link cut in. "We had a research-related question for you."

At the mention of her beloved research, Purah's eyes lit up behind her round glasses.

"What is it?" the girl-woman asked excitedly.

"Currently, only one person can use the Sheikah Slate to warp to any activated Guidance Stone," Link explained. "We were wondering if that could be expanded to two people?"

"It would make traveling an awful lot easier, wouldn't it?" Purah asked thoughtfully. "I might be able to do it. Princess, if you'd be so kind?" She held one small, pale hand for the Sheikah Slate. Zelda unhooked the slate from her hip and passed it to her old friend, who began to tap on it and mutter.

"Need to do some tests— widening the range—" said the girl.

Link didn't need to look at his princess to feel the palpable relief radiating off of her.

"I'll work on it," Purah finally said at last. "I need to run a few preliminary tests, which will take a while. Are you comfortable leaving this with me?"

"For a little while," the princess said. Her voice, Link noted, had weakened a little. He stomped down the urge to reach out and touch her shoulder. Instead, he balled his hands into fists and watched her.

Watched the curve of her cheek, the flutter of her lashes, the minute movements in her jaw and neck, as he had always watched her. As her protector. Her champion.

He wished there was more he could do for her.

"I recognize you likely won't be staying in Hateno very long," Purah said to the princess, pulling Link from his ruminations. "So I'll send word every morning on my progress. Of course, you're welcome to come by here any time to visit and see how the experiments are going." Her eyes flitted from Link to the princess, old eyes in a young face. What she saw must have sobered her a little because her expression sobered. Then she hopped off the stool.

"Well, come on," she said brightly. "You've walked all this way — let me feed you and show you around, at least!"

They had a quick lunch of sandwiches. Meat, cheese, and a spicy spread complimented the crunch of fresh greens very nicely. Then, Purah gave them the grand tour, escorting Link and the princess all over the property. Zelda exclaimed over the massive telescope perched on the roof, and spent no small amount of time looking around at the surrounding landscape with the huge lens. They journeyed to the top of the tower, where the princess and Purah spent quite a while with their heads bent over books, mumbling things about calibrations and vibrations and other things Link didn't understand. Link leaned against the wall, waiting for his princess as he so often had. Symin came and went with another tray of sandwiches, plus cocoa for the ladies. By the time afternoon was working it way into evening, the princess was yawning into her hands and Purah was fretting.

"I can see you're tired and ready to leave, princess," the girl-woman said. "Can we offer you a ride back down to the village?"

"No, thank you," the princess said softly. "I'm rather enjoying the exercise. But thank you for the offer. "

"Of course," Purah agreed. Next came the long round of goodbyes, promises to get together again soon, and Purah's reassurances that the Sheikah Slate would be in good hands and she'd send an update first thing each morning. The little Sheikah asked one last time if they were quite certain they didn't want a ride. The princess demurred, and they were on their way.

Halfway back to the village, the princess stopped at a steep ledge, looking out over the craggy landscape.

"Zelda?" Link asked softly. The sun was making its descent towards the horizon, and the landscape was shot through with orange and gold light.

"The Age of Burning Fields," she murmured. "I wasn't aware that Hyrule had burned."

Link stepped up beside her, looking out at the view.

"How much were you aware of? When you were trapped in there?" Link asked her as the wind dragged its fingers across their cheeks. The princess's braided coronet was becoming mussed, strands frizzing out in the wind.

"Only you," the princess said. "You were my only connection to what was happening outside of Hyrule Castle."

Link frowned.

"But I was asleep," he said.

"Yes," the princess agreed, her mouth twisting bitterly.

Link waited. His princess seemed to be not lost in thought, not precisely, but picking her way carefully through memories.

"Those first few years," she said in a low voice, so quiet he could barely hear her. Threaded through with the familiar pain that was so often present now. "When you were still so near death. Those were the darkest. My grief was still so new, and my powers were so unfamiliar. I was terrified every moment that my grasp would slip and Calamity Ganon would burst free. And my only escape was to send my mind to you — near death in the sleep of restoration. I was terrified you would never recover."

"But I did," Link said softly.

"Slowly," the princess agreed. "We didn't have as much power fed to the Shrine of Resurrection as we should have. Calamity Ganon suppressed it, somehow. And the damage to you was so catastrophic that between it and the low power, you only regained about one percent of your body's functionality each year. I was so hopeless at first. The first decade was very dark indeed."

"Zelda…" Link said. Her hands hung loose at her sides. Link had the sudden, sparking urge to reach out, to grasp her hands with his as he had the night before. As he was summoning his courage to do so, she turned, smiling sadly.

"Let us speak of it no more," she said. She began to march down the path, and Link watched her go for a moment before scrambling down after her.

They were going to have to talk about it at some point, Link thought to himself. There was too much blood and death between them for her to go on avoiding the subject whenever it came up. He could tell it hurt her to speak of it. It wasn't the same old pain as what she'd expressed around her missing powers — it was deeper. More jagged.

It reminded him of a poisoned wound. Link wondered how he could help.

Ahead of him, his princess had stopped walking. She didn't look at him, but it was clear that her entire attention was fixed on him.

"Walk beside me from now on, Hero," she said softly. "Please. Don't make me walk alone any longer."

Link inhaled. Another boundary crossed. Another piece of protocol discarded. She wished him to stride beside her as an equal partner, not as a vassal. He was quite certain she knew what he was asking.

But who was he to refuse her? Not when she was so clearly still cracked in half from pain and grief.

"Of course," he responded, stepping up to walk beside the princess. She didn't loop her arm through his to tow him along — not this time — but though her face was still sad, her step was a little lighter.

Link studied the nervousness, the hope, and the sinking feeling in his stomach. His princess was changing the rules on him, stripping away the walls that protocol had erected between them one brick at a time.

What would they find when those walls were gone? What would they see of each other? What would be between them instead?

He was terrified to find out.

—

They lingered in Hateno for several dreamy weeks. Link took his princess to the beach, up the mountains, even to the top of the nearby Hateno Tower, though at his princess's request they avoided the Spring of Power. They helped the villagers with the harvest, were chased out of the house by Bolson (who was very insistent that his team could assemble furniture without help, you adorable little couple~), and spent lazy hours resting in the green meadow outside Link's house. Zelda had begged a few books from Purah, and lounged on blankets laid out in the grass, making notes in a little journal Link had bought for her from Beedle when he passed through town several days earlier.

Her other journals — her journals from Hyrule Castle — sat in the bottom of Link's packs, folded away (for the time being) in his storage shed. He felt some days like they were burning a hole in the back of his skull. How could he give them to his princess, he wondered one afternoon as he practiced his sword work. How could he explain that he'd violated her privacy? That he'd read them, not so much out of a hope to find information about Ganon, but because he so desperately wanted to remember what it had been to be carefree — well, relatively— with her?

"Link," his princess said in her soft voice, startling him so badly he nearly dropped his sword mid-swing. The volume and enthusiasm she'd so often expressed Before were gone, but there was emotion in her voice now. Real feeling. Hateno was doing her good.

"Yes?" Link asked. His princess was lying on her stomach, kicking her feet in the air over her rump as she compared two ancient tomes and made notes. She was wearing trousers, and Link forcefully tore his eyes from the silhouette of her very shapely legs. She was putting weight back on, her body rebuilding itself.

That was the only reason why he was assessing the shape of her legs. Obviously.

He realized she was looking at him, expectantly waiting for a response, and Link resisted the urge to tug at his collar. She'd realized a long time ago that when he did that, he was hiding something.

"I'm sorry?" He asked, meeting his princess's green stare with his own blue one and keeping his hands firmly away from his collar. "Can you repeat that, please?"

"I said," his princess frowned, "I think we ought to go back to Kakariko soon. I'm sure Impa has begun hearing back by now from the different races about Guardians. Once Purah has finished her work on the Sheikah Slate, it should be an easy matter of traveling around to assess the reports. This will give us the opportunity to also open discussions on rebuilding the palace and Castle Town, and should allow us to begin making reparations to the families of the fallen Champions." Her face darkened, but she didn't slip into the blackness of grief. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a good idea," Link said. "Are you sure you want to go back to Kakariko, though? If we can teleport with the Sheikah Slate, we can just as easily stage everything from here."

"Are you so anxious to stay close to Purah?" Zelda asked him, arching a single blonde brow.

"No," Link said. "That's not it." He couldn't tell her that, since they'd taken up residence, this place had started to really feel like home. Not just because of the furniture, though that helped a good deal — but having someone else in the house with him, even if it was his princess, made him calmer. He was less alone. The other day, he'd imagined teaching a blonde-headed son to fish in the small pond, while a daughter climbed a tree, being shouted down by her mother, who sounded an awful lot like—

Well. He wouldn't burden Her with those impossible dreams. He was a guard. She was his first and only priority. He would never marry. His princess came first in his heart and his mind, now and always.

And that princess was still waiting for him to explain his odd remarks. Link swallowed.

"You seem happier here," he fumbled out. "Surrounded by the Sheikah — you were unhappy with all their eyes on you."

Zelda sighed. She shut her journal, then propped her head in her palm.

"I suppose it's true," she said, dragging the feather end of her quill in lazy curlicues across the blanket Link had spread out for her. Horse blanket, picnic blanket, study blanket — the thing had seen far more use since his princess came along than it had in the entire duration of Link's adventuring. "All my life, I've been at the center of everyone's gaze. It was hard. It is hard. Especially now, after all that has happened. All I want is some quiet and reprieve. I want to rest." She paused, face resolute and sad.

"But I can't rest, Link. We have a nation to rebuild. And it doesn't matter how tired I am, or how afraid, or how much I want to scream at everyone to stop staring at me. All that worship and pity. I can't stand it." She threw her quill down, then pushed herself up to her knees, fixing Link with a baleful green gaze.

"It doesn't matter what I want, though," she told him. "It has never mattered what I want. And it never will matter. I am the princess of Hyrule. The kingdom has been broken into pieces, but we can fix it. I know we can. And that means I can't hide anymore. I have to step up, and take charge. Begin purging the Guardians. Begin leading the rebuilding effort. So even though I don't want to go back to Kakariko, I must. It is my duty as the last daughter of the Bosphoramus line."

Her little speech had left her breathless. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes sparkled. Link had the sudden urge to go to her. He tried to suppress it by sheathing his sword, but that only freed up his hands, the mischievous, disobedient things that they were.

He knelt before his lady.

"What is it that you want, then?" he asked her, studying her face intently. A tendril of blonde hair wafted before her eyes. With careful fingers that rose in spite of his best attempts to keep them to himself, Link tucked the itinerant strand behind one delicate, pointed ear.

She inhaled sharply as Link's fingers ghosted across the arch of her cheekbone. Her drop earring quivered as his fingers passed by. Her eyes, emerald and wide, shot to his.

"I think," she said, voice wavering a bit, "the better question is, will you stand with me?"

"Huh?" Link was so flummoxed he sat back on his heels, studying his princess. She'd always had a knack for surprising him, back Before — apparently, now was no different.

"Will you be my partner in this?"

"I…" Link paused, frowning. He cocked his head to the side. "Partner?"

"Yes, partner," she grumbled. She poked him forcefully in the chest. "Equals. Remember?" She punctuated the question with another sharp poke. To please her, Link went toppling over to land on his rump.

"But I'm your guard," Link said to the sky. His princess sprang to her feet and began pacing. "Your appointed knight. Protocol dictates I can never be your equal. Only your vassal."

"Which I can't forget," Zelda said, gesturing irately. "Because you won't let me forget. A hundred years have passed and all the old ways are dead, and still you insist on following all the proper decorum and ridiculous protocol. Why, Link? Am I really so repulsive to you?"

Link propped himself up on an elbow, watching his princess stomp back and forth across the field. He didn't need to ask a follow-up question: true to form from Before, she continued to rant.

"I try to make it clear to you that I want you to be my equal, and you insist on staying four steps back. I tell you to walk beside me, and you do it only because you're following your bloody orders. I must conclude, being of a scientific mind, that you are not interested in — in—"

"Interested in what?" Link asked as she angrily fumbled for words.

"In being my friend, you absolute dolt!" she shouted, so loudly that birds scattered from the nearby tree.

She was breathing hard. Link looked at her in surprise. Her cheeks flamed. She spun, presenting him with her back.

"You were friends, good friends, with the rest of the Champions."

Not Revali, Link wanted to point out, but now did not seem to be the time for correcting his princess.

"You had their respect and they had yours. You talked with them. Worked with them. Treated them as equals and exchanged ideas. But never with me. Always four steps behind me and bloody silent. Even now. Even when all we have is each other, you insist upon your dratted protocol."

"Princess," Link tried, but she kept going.

"Well, I may not be Mipha or Urbosa, but I need friendship too, and if I'm going to get through everything that's coming I need someone who will be honest and open with me and — and…" Words deserted her. She huffed and puffed, and Link had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at her. She looked like a very irate kitten.

"Zelda," he said, in the tone of voice he used to soothe skittish horses. "Please. Sit down. Of course I'll be your friend."

"Oh, no you won't," she said grumpily, though she did plop down into a tailor's seat beside him. "You're just saying that because you believe it's your duty."

"I don't," Link said, trying to contain his humor. At the sight, up close, of Zelda's genuine unhappiness, he sobered. "I don't. It's just… breaking protocol makes me worried."

"Worried?" she asked, turning her doe eyes to him. "Whatever for? Nobody here is going to strip you of your titles and cast you out of the kingdom."

"No," Link agreed. "But I can't help but think… those strict rules, princess. I believe they were all put in place for a reason. To protect us from each other."

"To protect us from each other?" the princess asked, puzzled. "Why on earth would we need that? Have I not shown that I will defend you at any cost? Have you not shown the same?" She reached out and grabbed his hand. Fire raced through him. "I know that you will always protect me, Link. I have absolute faith in you. So please." Her voice softened. Her grip on him tightened, as though she was afraid he would flee. "Please, Link. Be my equal. Be my friend."

He could deny her nothing, Link realized, looking at her beautiful, desperate face. And it wasn't just because he was her sworn protector. No— this went much, much deeper, and he shied away from naming the emotion that swirled through him at the sight of his princess's distress.

The person she most needed protection from was him, he realized with a sinking feeling. And she was asking him not to.

Link shut his eyes.

He could refuse her nothing.

"Defying protocol will be difficult for me," he said. "But I promise, Zelda. I will try to be your equal and your friend."

"Oh, Link," she said, throwing her arms around him and pressing her body against his own. "Thank you."

The sinking feeling in Link's stomach opened deeper as fire at her touch sparked through him. He wished that the pit there would swallow him whole.

Friends. In the name of Hylia, how would he manage that?


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2: Rebuild**

They agreed to leave Hateno the morning after the Harvest Festival.

Purah had made all the necessary adjustments to the Sheikah Slate so that it would transport both of them. There was some debate as to whether they ought to leave the horses at Hateno or take them back to Kakariko. The princess won that argument: given that meetings were likely in the future for rebuilding, they'd need all the pomp and circumstance they could scrape up, which meant she would need her horse. Link didn't like the idea of traveling again — though his princess was stronger and stronger every day, he still worried a bit about the Yiga Clan, though Impa had assured Link that after Ganon's defeat they'd all gone into hiding. Impa said they were safe, and his princess wanted to ride her horse back to Kakariko, and Link could deny her nothing.

The morning of the festival, they packed their things. Link did some last minute cooking of travel meals while Zelda folded away any laundry they would not need. That included her Hateno frocks, which she ran fond fingers across. The way she laid them aside told Link that she dreamt of coming back and wearing them again, but didn't dare hope for it. Still, it was clearly what she wanted, and Link had sworn to protect her — from himself, from herself, it didn't matter. He wrote a letter to Bolson with explicit instructions for upcoming modifications to the house and included a bill of payment, then tucked it into his pocket to take into town. Once his princess was ready, dressed in a spring green frock that brought out her brilliant eyes, they made their way into town for the Harvest Festival.

It would be an all-day affair, they'd been told. A full day of dancing, eating, drinking, and some fighting. There were to be stalls, and craftsmen from all around had come to peddle their wares. As they browsed the pop-up market Link watched his princess linger over glazed bowls, delicate glass, and flowery lace. He remembered how she'd always had a love for beautiful things. He made mental notes of the objects that she seemed loathe to put down, filing them away for future reference.

Lunch had been laid out on long tables in a meadow. Everyone from the village had brought something— except Link, who made his contribution in the form of rupees. Skewers of fish and mushroom and meat, stewed fruits and vegetables, creamy soups and dishes with rice, nuts, sugar, and more all graced the long tables. Zelda happily loaded up a plate for herself, taking a little of everything, and insisting that Link split with her the things that were too large for her to eat on her own. They found a shady, secluded spot, and enjoyed their meals very much. His princess's laughter bubbled across the field, clear and bright for the first time since Before. It heated Link from the inside out like a good drink.

After lunch, Link was conscripted into the arms tournament.

"Come on, then, Traveler," said the cheerful village lad who took Link's arm in a surprisingly strong grip. "You've clearly seen a battle or two. Join us for the tournament."

"No, really," Link tried to protest. "I'd rather not—"

"Go on," Zelda told him. "Show these fine folks what my hero is made of."

Link's cheeks flushed as a few villagers looked between the princess and him with raised brows, clearly imagining how he'd earned that 'my hero' title. Link thought about babbling that he'd defeated a giant pig-monster and saved her from a tower, but he didn't think anyone would believe him. And anyway, he was being towed full-force towards the makeshift arena, which was little more than a paddock with temporary seating around the edges for children and families. Smiling, his princess followed after, clearly amused at Link's discomfort.

"But— but I—" Link spluttered again.

"Don't shame your lass, lad," said one man, clapping Link so hard on the shoulder that he let out a whuff of air. They dragged him along to the waiting area, where other hopefuls waited with their families or sweethearts.

"I think it will be quite fun," the princess said, bumping Link in the arm with her elbow. "When was the last time you fought in an exhibition?"

"I can't remember," Link replied honestly, scratching his head. "And I'm not being coy about it," he added at the princess's dubious look. "I really can't."

They'd discussed how not all of Link's memories had returned— how the longer he was awake, the more unlikely it was they would come back. But Link was alright with not remembering exhibition fighting, or stuffy ceremonies, or even the faces of his parents.

He had memories of his princess. That was all he needed.

"You're up, then, laddie," said the gruff old man as a gong sounded, signaling the end of a battle. The two combatants trod out of the paddock, dusty and grinning, clapping each other on the shoulders.

"Alright," Link agreed uncertainly. Someone began to explain the rules to him— first opponent on the ground loses, don't break anything, don't draw blood, have fun— as they handed him a padded shield and a sword that was little more than a cloth-wrapped stick. Link gave it a few experimental swings.

Terrible balance. Oh well.

In the ring, a village boy — young, certainly not above the age of twelve — handed Link a padded helm. He went to pull it onto his head but the boy stopped him.

"Hey now," the boy said. "You can't fight without some luck."

"Luck?" Link asked, thinking of all the times he'd done exactly that.

The boy, rather than explaining, gestured to Link's opponent, who was enjoying a very ardent kiss from his sweetheart.

"Get your lady to give you some luck."

"I — she's not my—"

Zelda stood at the fence, her green eyes wide as she watched Link. Trying not to betray his poor temper, he stomped up to her.

"You're supposed to wish me luck," he told her grouchily. The other couple had their tongues down each other's throats. Zelda looked at them and wrinkled her nose.

"I see," she said. She looked at Link, then shrugged. "No time like the present to try something new, I suppose."

Before he could ask her what in Hylia's name she meant, she'd hopped up onto the lowest rung of the fence that ran along the paddock. She braced her hands against his shoulders, leaned forward, and laid her lips against his own.

Link froze. Her lips were soft. If her touch had turned him into flame before, now he was sparking with white fire, as surely as though Urbosa had struck him with lightning. Beyond them, the crowd cheered. But Link didn't hear them. His attention was fixed solely on his princess, who was pulling away.

"There," she said, smiling shyly at him once she was a safe distance away. "That should do it, don't you think?"

He was so dazed, Link realized, that he'd be lucky not to get his head knocked off.

"Unf," he grunted, jamming his helmet onto his head and tottering unsteadily off to do battle for his lady.

It was a short one.

The referee dropped the flag signaling the beginning of the fight. Link's opponent, who was a weedy shepherd, came charging forward. Two rapid strikes later and the man was laid out on the ground and groaning, clutching his stomach. The crowd was silent.

"Oy," came a voice. "I didn't even see him move!"

Another long moment stretched by. Link wanted to vanish into the ground. He hadn't wanted to be part of this ridiculous exhibition anyway — even before he'd been named Champion, he'd been an excellent fighter — when a roar of approval swept through the crowd, shattering the sudden silence. The gong sounded, marking the official end of the fight Link was the victor.

Zelda was waiting at the fence, radiating joy.

"Link," she exclaimed happily, "you won!"

"As if you ever doubted it," Link said back to her, his heart not in the grumble. He found himself quickly challenged to other matches, though he got no more searing good luck kisses from his lady before they began.

That was alright, Link tried to reassure himself. He had more than enough luck already.

Link's last opponent of the afternoon, as the sun was setting and shooting the world through with fire, was a beefy man that Link would have sworn was half Goron. A quick parry and a flurry of strikes felled him in under ten seconds. The crowd roared its approval. The man rose up from the ground, blinking, dazed, and clapped Link on the back so sturdily that Link nearly fell over.

"Well done, man," said the older bloke. "Y'hit like a hammer!"

After that, it was a matter of accepting his reward — a medal that hung around his neck like an absurd trophy — and attempting to flee. But while he'd been fighting, his princess had been making friends with the local girls. As Link approached, they receded from around her, giggling.

"Well fought, Link," she told him, sliding her hand into the crook in his elbow. "As always, it is a pleasure to watch you demonstrate your art."

"Art," snorted Link, nevertheless secretly delighted by her praise. "That's one way of naming it."

Together, they sought out an evening meal. Though the battles had been easy, Link was ravenously hungry after an afternoon spent jumping around in the sun. He split a creamy seafood dish with his princess, and then invited her to the bonfire to try out the country dances, which she'd watched with eyes that reflected the bonfire around which the couples twirled.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, worrying at a blade of grass. "I don't know any of the steps."

"From what I understand," Link told her, "they're meant to be easy to pick up on. Come on. I fought all afternoon. You can dance with me a little. Otherwise, these fellows will think my luck has deserted me, and they'll challenge me again, and I'll have to knock them all on their rumps once more. Wouldn't you rather avoid that?"

His princess smiled.

"Alright," she agreed. "I'll go dance."

His princess, it turned out, was a spirited dancer. He wouldn't have called her good at it, not precisely, given that she spent half the time making wrong steps for the country jigs and laughing at herself. But she had spirit, and charm, and Link knew that more eyes than just his were on her as she twirled in the firelight. Purah and Symin had decided not to attend the festival — something about too much to do before Zelda and Link departed the following day — and Link was perversely glad. He thought that being free from the weight of expectations was what let his princess dance so lightly, and knew that even a single pair of knowing eyes would deflate her.

Eventually, they found themselves dancing to a slower melody.

It had gotten dark. The steps to this were easy — if anything, they were rather like a waltz. Link had never danced a waltz with his princess before, he was certain, but he remembered doing it with someone else — a sister, perhaps? A cousin? Regardless, though the memory was not there, the muscles remembered, and he and his princess stepped through the motions of the country dance, shared memory transforming it to something more familiar.

"Thank you, Link," Zelda said to him, smile glowing like soft light in the darkness. "Today has been wonderful."

"You're very welcome," he told her, spinning her carefully. As they danced, their steps evolved, changed. His princess came back to him, stepping into the proper embrace, and they were suddenly dancing an old court waltz. "I'm glad you have enjoyed yourself."

"Yes," his princess agreed. She swept her skirts up in one hand, tilting her upper body away from Link in the proper form, her smallest motion attuned to his own. She looked every inch the princess, her blonde braids shining like a crown around her head. "I have, very much. I hope to enjoy more events like this in the future. It gives me hope," she said, looking out at the crowd of dancing couples. "It reminds me that the world has gone on, and can flourish once again."

Link changed his grip, signaling to his princess that they were about to move. The patch of dirt where people had been dancing had cleared, and there was enough room for them to begin the proper turns and spins of an ancient waltz. His princess responded beautifully, and they were off. She moved with such grace and poise that Link was desperately sorry he'd never seen her dance — or couldn't remember her dancing — in the glittering splendor of Before.

After long moments, the music died down. The flutes and drums tapered away. The dance — and the Festival— were over.

"Thank you," Link said, sweeping a proper, courtly bow before his lady. He kissed the back of her hand as he would have were they dancing in the ballroom at Hyrule Castle a hundred years ago.

"You're welcome," his princess responded, sweeping up her skirts as she performed a deep curtsey— not one of princess to noble, but equal to equal. "You are a marvelous dancing partner, Link. You didn't step on my toes even once."

"A high compliment," he observed. He held out his arm to his princess as the other couples, and those who had been watching the dancers, began to disperse.

"Yes," his princess said with a yawn. She looped her arm through his, as had become her habit, and together they walked back towards the house.

"I don't want to leave here," she told him as they crossed the bridge above the Firly Pond. "This is the first place that has really felt like home to me."

"Yes," Link agreed. They stopped just beyond the front door, in the meadow with its waving wild flowers. A group of silent princesses had sprung up just within the last week, and were glowing merrily within the shade of a large tree. "But it didn't feel like home until you came here."

His princess looked at him, doe eyes wide in the starlight, her lips slightly open. Link was tempted to kiss her again, but wouldn't. Shouldn't. The kiss earlier had been just for show. This — this would be real, and it wasn't a step he was willing to take. Carefully, he stepped back. Something in his princess's expression shuttered

"I suppose that makes sense," Zelda said, turning away from him. She looked at the flowers that grew beneath the tree. Crouched, and touched a pale petal with a reverent finger. "A house is just a building. It's people who make a home."

They didn't speak again after that. Link waited while his princess remained absorbed in her thoughts. At last, she went inside, Link just behind her. They tended to their night time ablutions separately, then went to their own beds.

"Sleep well," Link told his princess softly. "I'll wake you in the morning when it's time to leave."

"Very well," came the faint voice from the darkened loft. If the way she'd spoken weeks ago had been soft with emptiness, her voice - for all that it was a whisper — was shot-through with emotion. "Sleep well, Link."

"And you, Zelda," Link said. He rolled over, blew out the candle, and fell asleep in the soft residual glow of the banked fire and his princess's touch.

Purah delivered the Sheikah Slate to them at dawn the next morning and agreed to watch over the place in Link's absence. They loaded up their horses and left, riding in silence the entire way back to Kakariko, where they arrived near midnight.

After that, they had very little time alone again for weeks.

The first maps had come in, and Link and Zelda began traveling around with use of the Sheikah Slate, freeing the spirits still trapped within the machines and gathering the human remains in lacquered boxes the Sheikah had built for them for this purpose. Nobody had decided yet where the graveyard would be, but all agreed it was a good idea. In the meantime, the remains were stored in the Temple of Time which — as Link and Zelda had learned — some of the Sheikah had begun repairing and weatherproofing.

So they'd travel, sometimes camping overnight if their quarry was in a difficult-to-access location. They were rarely alone on these trips: often, they had a local guide, and even when they did not, the weight of her royalty sat on the princess's shoulders like a tangible thing.

Each ghost took a toll on the princess. Afterwards, when they were back in Kakariko, Link would take her for walks in the countryside around the village, long ambles where silence stretched between them as often as not. But his princess was strong: she remained dignified when in the company of others, and only let her true grief show to Link.

He remembered a line she'd written in her journal so long ago, how it had heartened him before he flung himself into battle with Calamity Ganon:

"I wish to talk with him more and to see what lies beneath those calm waters, to hear him speak freely and openly… And perhaps I, too, will be able to bare my soul to him and share the demons that have plagued me all these years."

Well, Link thought to himself, sharing was a river that ran two ways. So as they walked in silence one afternoon after several days spent in the frigid tundra, dismantling Guardians, Link began to unburden himself to his princess.

"You know," he said, and she half-turned from where she wandered several feet away, toying with a strap of bare tree branch. Autumn had come to Kakariko, and the trees were losing their leaves in a shower of red and gold confetti. "I've been thinking."

"You're always thinking," the princess observed, releasing the small branch. She turned, looking at Link. "But you rarely speak your mind on those thoughts. What is it?"

Link shrugged.

"While the people of each race tend to get along well internally, there are some politics between the different races," he said. "How are you going to make sure that they all feel as though they're getting fair treatment in the new government?"

His princess sighed.

"I don't know," she said. "I've been reading books on the subject, of course, but father…" she stopped. Her voice had thickened a little. Link crossed the space between them so he was nearby if she needed him.

"Father wanted me to focus fully on my duties as sealing princess," Zelda said. "As I'm sure you remember well."

Link did. He remembered encountering the king time and time again, and being glad that protocol forced him to kneel and duck his head as King Rhoam upbraided his daughter. It would have been treasonous to show the rage Link felt at the way his princess was treated by her father.

So he'd knelt. And hidden his face. And boiled silently.

"Of course, I had tutors who ensured I had a basic grasp of governance in my childhood," the princess continued. "I'm hardly uneducated — but still, I feel I am ignorant to the realities of what it means to rule. And I'm not fully sure how to rebuild. We're going to need a lot of cooperation, and that won't work if the peoples of the different races are tense with each other."

Link agreed. Which brought him to his next point, the one he'd been worrying at in his mind. He was afraid to articulate it — but he had decided he would bare his soul, folly and all, for his princess's comfort.

"You could use a trusted go-between," he tried. "Someone deeply respected by each of the races." At the princess's assessing look, he pinkened.

"Link," Zelda said softly. "Are you volunteering to get involved in politics?"

He felt himself flushing hotter, from his neck up to the tips of his ears.

"I don't know much about all that," he mumbled. "But I know these people, and they know me. I want to help you," he added. He forced himself to meet his princess's eyes. "You shouldn't carry this burden alone. That's all."

Zelda smiled. Then, she surprised Link by slipping her hand into his.

"Yes," she said, giving his fingers a squeeze. "I would very much appreciate your help."

Link was hot all over. Between the embarrassment and the hand in his, he thought he might combust.

"Alright then," he mumbled.

"Alright," the princess agreed. She didn't draw her hand away, and instead pulled Link deeper into the woods.

They spent the rest of the afternoon strolling through the hills, hand in hand. Link couldn't recall ever being so happy.

Winter blew in suddenly and without warning. One day, it was crisp and cool with a little bite to the air. The next day, Link and his princess woke to find Kakariko village blanketed in snow, its red lanterns and windchimes contrasting beautifully with the pale, glittering expanse.

"Snow," Zelda sniffed, looking out the window. She'd pulled a thick blanket around herself and was leaning against Link. She was careful to touch him like this only when nobody else was around to see. Still, Link had caught Impa watching him and the princess on more than one occasion with a knowing look.

He missed protocol.

"You don't like it?" Link asked, looking down at his princess fondly.

"Sure, it's lovely to look at," she said, pretty nose still wrinkled. "But it's cold and wet."

Link grinned. His princess had been miserable the entire time they trooped around Hebra earlier that fall, and had moaned and groaned constantly about "the miserable, dratted stuff."

"Our quest doesn't stop for snow," Link pointed out to her. "Just because the Rito and Zora are probably under ice doesn't mean that we can't visit the Gorons or Gerudo. It should be warm there."

"I'd much rather hide inside with a book and a mug of tea," his princess said. "Wouldn't you?"

As long as she was with him, he would go anywhere. But he didn't say that. Instead, he decided to tweak his princess's tail.

"Oh, I don't know," he said. "Snow's not all that bad if you've got the proper gear for it."

"I," the princess said loftily, "am a daughter of the plains. Green hills and warm winds year rounds. No amount of gear can make that—" she nodded at the snow as though it had personally wronged her— "tolerable. I don't care what you say. I plan to spend today indoors, reading beside the fire. We can resume our work tomorrow."

She sniffed, as though that settled the matter. Link suppressed his amusement.

They'd made good progress through the many Guardians that still remained scattered across Hyrule. Not done — nowhere near close — but far along enough that they were considering switching now to their rebuilding efforts. It was winter now, and travel in much of the country would be difficult. Now was the time to plan, and come spring, they would begin construction.

It would be Link's duty to fetch delegations from each of the four races. Well, three of the four. The Rito had insisted that they were perfectly capable of flying themselves to Kakariko, regardless of the cold. The Zora, Gorons, and Gerudo had gladly agreed that it would be acceptable for Link to come retrieve their leaders and two or three diplomats, and transport them to Kakariko in batches using the Sheikah Slate.

It would be a lot of warping, and Link wasn't looking forward to it. After frequent travel via slate, he always felt a little off-kilter, as though his teeth had loosened in his head or he'd grown an extra toe.

With the snow, preparations in Kakariko began in earnest for the arrival of the delegations of the other races. The Zora would lodge in the hot springs, the Gorons in a nearby cave. The Gerudo would have the local inn, and nest houses were being prepared in nearby trees for the Rito.

When Link mentioned the preparations to his princess, she seemed nervous.

"I know," she told him, twisting a piece of fabric between her hands. "We're all going to gather together soon and begin making plans. And I'll have to lead them."

"Hey," Link told her. He reached out and lay a stilling hand on her, stopping her fretting. He'd gotten braver about touching her lately, ever since that afternoon spent holding hands and walking through the woods. "You're going to do a wonderful job. And I'll be right there with you."

Zelda took a shaky breath, then exhaled through her nose.

"I know you will," she said again, looking down at their clasped hands. She released the piece of fabric she'd been worrying at, then pulled away. Link watched her rise, her arms wrapped around herself as she paced the cool confines of Impa's hut. For all that it was well-constructed, the winter chill still managed to creep through the windows and the floorboards, and the only truly warm place was beside the fire.

Link tried to coax her to talk again after that, but she remained mulish, stubbornly refusing to tell him what was bothering her. Finally, Link gave up, donned his snowquill armor, and tromped off to chop firewood. He wanted to understand what his princess was so anxious about. He'd already helped her no small amount with the negotiations, both by introducing her to the leaders of various races when they traveled to their cities, and by briefing her on the conflicts he'd picked up on when traveling around Hyrule and freeing the Divine Beasts.

So what had her in such a state, then?

He found out several days later, when the Rito arrived. They came, a full contingent of flying warriors — and the males, Link was chagrined to realize, were all very handsome and were vying for the hand of the princess.

When Link went to retrieve the Gorons, he observed the same phenomenon.

Prince Sidon himself led the Zora contingent on behalf of his father. Link's teeth rattled in his head as he tottered off of the landing platform outside Ta'Loh Naeg shrine, releasing an excited Zora male to the rest of his delegation. At least the Gerudo wouldn't angle for a kingship, Link thought remorsefully… probably. He'd never been fully sure how their society continued to function. But when he went the next day to Gerudo to retrieve Lady Riju and her ambassadors, the diminutive chieftainess pulled him aside, the Thunder Helm tucked under one arm.

"Listen," she said, her small hand warm on his elbow. "I shouldn't be telling you this, but you're my friend. The councilors are going to pressure your princess into adopting a Gerudo daughter."

Link dragged a hand over his face.

"Just perfect," he said glumly. "Thanks for the warning, Lady R— er, Chief," he said, catching sight of Buliara looking on irately. He held out an arm. "Ready to warp?"

And so Kakariko village was full to the brim of politicians. Link, feeling rather woozy from how much warping he'd done, spent several hours in the Great Fairy's meadow, recovering from the travel and hiding out from everyone else — including his princess. Had she known, he wondered? That in spite of all she'd done, all she'd sacrificed, the four races would treat her like a piece of meat — like a prize to be won?

Link took several deep breaths to contain his anger, and then — not liking the idea of his lady left alone for longer than necessary — he went back down to the village. His princess had holed up with a group of Sheikah women, and didn't allow him to escort her back to Impa's house until late that night.

The next day, on the ground floor of Impa's large home, the diplomacy began.

It went poorly — more poorly than Link would have imagined it could have gone, even with the interference he ran. The Rito were condescending to the Gerudo. Buliara threatened to skin a Rito Warrior when he called her "Little Lady," and had to be restrained by a Goron. The Zora were loudly complaining of the unfair treatment since they were expected to actually conduct business on dry land, and everyone resented the Sheikah for "laying claim" to the princess. Each race agreed that the princess ought to operate from a different capital — but nobody could agree where.

After two days of such bickering, Zelda slammed down her hands, startling everyone for silence.

"Enough," she said, her voice pitched to carry over the squabbling crowd. "You are all behaving like children. We have a kingdom to rebuild. We have all made sacrifices, and will continue to do so. Nobody is going to get everything they want, but if we work together, instead of bickering and being selfish, I believe we can come to an agreeable compromise," the princess said. "Now. As to the matter of where I will lodge. You are all correct in the observation that I have remained in Sheikah territory far too long. I respect each of you, and wish to understand your people's problems and challenges. That is why I will begin moving from city to city. I will stay with each race for a month. In that time, I expect you to show me seriously how you live, introduce me to your people, and brief me on your problems — not turn it into some absurd fiasco where the males or daughters of your race vie for my crown. I am not going to allow any race to benefit above the others, and should I marry or name an heir, it will be because I and my advisors believe that it is in the best interests of the entire kingdom."

Visibly chagrined, everyone backed off. Riju winked at Link across the table before adopting a solemn expression once more.

"Now," the princess said. "Does anyone have ideas for how to raise funds and interest in rebuilding Castle Town? We need a capital so that schisms like what have happened between our five races do not grow again. I envision building a city where all races can reside in prosperity and peace. What ideas do we have for making this happen?"

After that, the talks and negotiations went much more smoothly.

Link was bursting with pride for his princess. He was occasionally called to speak — to share observations from his travels, mostly, or answer other specific questions. By the end of the week of talks, everyone was feeling far better about the endeavor to rebuild. Tentative plans had been drawn up for Castle Town. The castle itself, it was agreed, could wait: it was more important to rebuild the people's prosperity. Once things improved fiscally, work could begin on restoring the palace.

Only Link, as familiar as he was with Zelda's tiny movements, recognized his princess's relief at not having to return to that prison anytime soon.

At the end of negotiations, straws were drawn to determine the order in which Zelda would visit capitals. She would visit Rito first, followed by Zora, Goron, and lastly Gerudo. Link would accompany her, of course. The traveling would begin in the new year, a bit over a month away.

And since everyone was so irate about the duration of time that the princess had spent in Kakariko, it gave Link the perfect excuse to take her back to Hateno for the winter holidays.

He cleared off the delegations, one each day, in the same order he had retrieved them. The Gerudo were the last to leave. Link was heartened to see that the princess and Lady Riju had developed a budding friendship.

"I was quite close to Lady Urbosa, you know," Link overheard his princess telling the young chief one day. "I wasn't meant to have favorites among the champions, but I confess, I adored her above the others."

"Even more than Link?" Lady Riju asked, voice all cream and mischief.

His princess laughed. "Especially Link," the princess told the girl. "For the longest time, I hated him."

"Why?" the girl asked, plainly shocked.

The princess paused. If Link knew her, she was casting around for words. Though he'd read her journal, he wanted to see what she said to the little Gerudo.

"Because," the princess said. "He seemed to succeed without trying. I was jealous, and afraid of what he thought of me."

"Ah," said Lady Riju. "Yes, he does make it all look easy, doesn't he?"

"He does," the princess agreed. "But he struggles, just like you or I do."

There was silence between the two for a moment.

"I'm glad to see you don't hate him anymore," Lady Riju said, voice warm. "So. Tell me about Lady Urbosa."

Well. Link withdrew. The little Gerudo was annoyingly perceptive, as usual. Though Link had followed protocol to a T while the other delegates were here, apparently he and his princess hadn't been as subtle in their friendship as they thought.

The next day, Link escorted the Gerudo home. Once he was finished with that work, rather than returning to Kakariko, he warped to the top of the tower in Central Hyrule and sat, studying the castle, lost in thought. After a long time, he took out his paraglider and soared down to the blackened wreckage. Last time he'd been here, he'd been a bit busy trying not to get killed. But the monster population was dwindling without Ganon's foul power feeding it, and he went nowhere without his weapons. They still hadn't laid the Master Sword to rest — not yet, not with still so much to do — and it hung on his back, a comforting weight, as his boots touched the ground and he folded his paraglider away.

He slipped into the castle. The wreckage was the same. The guardians, all still. Link did not try to pop any hatches or free any spirits. That was a task his princess wished to complete. Instead, he trod up the long and winding hill — familiar paths, yet unfamiliar — until he'd reached the castle. He went inside, looking for… anything, really.

He spent a long time exploring, negotiating around tricky wreckage and hoping the roof didn't fall in on him. He knew that what he was doing was foolhardy, but he didn't care. He passed by the barracks where, as a knight, he had resided. He didn't go in, though memory tugged at him. There would be time another day for that. Instead, he navigated as though he were in a dream, wandering down half-remembered hallways until he found what he was looking for.

The King's study.

Time had not been kind to the room. The windows had blown in, and half the books were mouldering, the furniture disintegrating. Even still, a journal — the King's own — was tucked away in a drawer, and a few books on governance and diplomacy were stored safely in a chest. Link bundled those things into a pack, and then explored a little further, going down this time. He remembered the immense, subterranean…. Nest, that was the best word for it, where he'd fought the Calamity. Link sincerely hoped he would manage to avoid that room. He didn't wish to revisit it anytime soon, though he knew he would have to set foot in it again eventually.

In the basement, Link found what he was looking for, according to the faint tickle of his memory. It looked like storeroom, practically untouched. He didn't know how to get in, but he wasn't the Goddess's Chosen Hero for nothing: the quick blast of a bomb quickly splintered the door open, and Link let himself in.

Thick trunks, too heavy to move, lined the walls. A small metal trunk waited innocuously in the center of the room. There was no lock, but as Link's pressed his fingers to the metal latch, it fell away with a gentle click. Link lifted the lid of the chest, then sat back.

Gold and jewels. More of it than he'd seen since he'd awoken. And there, on the top, hastily stashed away and wrapped in simple burlap, the ceremonial crown, scepter, and orb.

Perfect.

Link said a prayer of thanks to the Goddess — whose work was this, if not Hers? — and loaded the books from his pack into the chest, then stood, lifting it. He groaned with the effort — it was heavy. Fumbling with one hand, Link used the Sheikah Slate to warp himself to Hateno, and landed on his feet, woozy and disoriented. Too much warping — but only one left to go.

It had gotten late while Link explored the castle. Darkness had fallen in the little mountain village, for which Link was grateful. He set the chest down, then carried it home unseen with magnesis, grateful for the powers of the little Sheikah Slate. The modifications he'd asked for on his home had been made, though no cheerful fire or warm lamps greeted him.

Oh well.

Link pressed the chest into a shadowy corner under the stairs, then covered it with a spare sheet. Then, bracing himself one last time, he warped back to Kakariko.

He staggered off the shrine's landing platform and vomited.

That was new.

Well, Link supposed as he dragged himself back to the headwoman's house — Zelda's temporary headquarters — it wasn't all that surprising. He'd warped Riju, plus her four diplomats, back to the desert. There-and-back that was seven warps, plus an eighth to Central Hyrule. Number nine had taken him to Hateno, and the tenth warp had brought him home. Ten warps in a day — no wonder he felt so awful.

His princess was waiting for him, her face pale and pinched with worry.

"Where were you?" she asked him, rising to her feet as soon as he opened the door. She'd been waiting by a cook pot for him to come back — Link noticed with chagrin that it was cold. "I've been waiting for you to come back for hours! I've been worried out of my mind, thinking that something had happened to you."

"I wanted to check something out," Link told her, stomping snow off of his boots and trousers just outside the threshold. Once he was sure he wouldn't track any snow in, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a click. His princess surged forward, anger on her face.

"You wanted to check something out," she repeated in disbelief. "And you couldn't have told me? I thought you'd been attacked, or run away with a Gerudo or—"

"You thought I'd run away?" Link asked, stopping her mid-rant. "With a Gerudo? Eight feet tall and likely as not to kill me?"

His princess, realizing what she'd said, shut her mouth. She flushed pink and whirled away.

"Well, you were gone an awfully long time," she said to the wall. "And some men like that kind of… warrior woman thing. What else was I supposed to think?"

"I went to Hateno," Link told her, grinning. He stepped forward and gripped her shoulders, gently rotating her around to face him. Her face was flaming red and she wouldn't look at him. "I was making arrangements for our return there next week." It was a lie — he actually still needed to do that — but he could make the arrangements by carrier bird tomorrow and his princess would be none the wiser.

"You must think me very silly," she finally said to his shoes.

"Honestly," Link said, still grinning, "I find your jealousy very flattering. But, my princess," he added, squeezing her shoulders lightly. "Zelda. You don't need to worry. I will always come back to you."

She huffed for a moment, then pulled from his grip, turning away. Link wished he could see that expressive face of hers.

"Come eat," she told him as she knelt beside the cook pot. "I'm afraid the food has gotten cold, but it should still be satisfactory."

There was still more to be said between them — much more, Link thought — but he didn't push the subject. Not tonight, when her emotions were so raw.

"Did you eat without me?" Link asked his princess, settling down across from her.

"No," she muttered. "I thought you'd be home sooner. And then it was the principle of the thing. You'd kept me waiting. I wasn't going to give you the satisfaction of eating alone. You know?"

Link frowned, disliking the idea of her going hungry and waiting for him in the cold- which, he gathered, was the point. He promised himself that next time he'd find a way to send word to her, even if it meant making two extra warps.

He hoped it didn't come to that.

They didn't talk much over their cold supper. Zelda was still clearly embarrassed and overwrought, and Link was busy puzzling apart her reaction. Why would she be jealous? Hadn't he made it clear that he would always come for her?

Conversation for another day, he supposed.

After the meal, Link did the cleanup, then engaged his princess in a game of cards by candlelight. It had been considered unseemly for a princess to play card games, but her champions had taught her anyway, back when they all spent so much time together, and Link had watched as his princess became quite the card shark.

Now, they gambled with little stones, and his charming princess absolutely fleeced him. Winning seemed to put some wind back in her sails, because when he suggested they turn in for the evening, she laid a hand on his arm.

"I am sorry for doubting you," she told him. "Please forgive me."

"You've caused no offense," Link responded. He surprised them both by covering her hand with one of his. "But please, forgive me for making you worry, and for keeping you from your dinner."

Zelda looked up at him. She studied his face in the flickering lamplight, and took a step forward so their bodies were nearly touching. Though it was cool in the hut, warmth suffused Link, as it always did when his princess was near.

"Of course," she said. She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Link's cheek, just beside the corner of his mouth. He wanted to turn his head, capture her lips in his own, but even without protocol it would have been horrifyingly inappropriate. A violation of her friendship and trust. So he waited, breathing her in, and she pulled away. Then smiled at him.

"I'll see you in the morning," she told him softly. "Good night, Link."

"Sleep well, Zelda," he replied, knowing that there would be no rest for him.

The day they were to leave for Hateno village, Impa asked to see Link privately.

His princess watched him go in puzzlement, then allowed herself to be drawn off by the Sheikah women who dragged her off to the hot springs — a bath house, now that a permanent structure rested around it. Link and Impa sat across from each other in the second-largest house in the village, the old woman's face solemn.

"I wish to talk with you about your relationship with the princess," the Sheikah matriarch said. Link kept his face impassive, though his stomach sank. He'd been dreading this. He would do anything to keep his princess happy — but he knew how serious the rules and the laws were around protocol. He'd broken them by letting Zelda cross so many of the lines that separated them from each other… and, for her sake, he would pay that cost.

Link waited for the Sheikah woman to give him a dressing-down.

"The way that the two of you are carrying on is inappropriate, given your positions," she told him in her gravelly voice. "However, I do not think it untoward for both of you to find some happiness."

Link blinked in surprise. Impa continued.

"The two of you have been admirably discreet," she said. "But it's clear to those of you who watch closely that there is something going on between you and the princess. While I am curious to know the extent of your relationship, it really is no business of mine. But if you have romantic feelings, it is my duty as her advisor to ask what your intentions are, and if you are at risk of compromising her safety."

Link inhaled. Then sighed.

"I will protect her from anything," Link finally told the old woman. "Including myself, if necessary, if that is your concern. However, your princess leads me in this dance." Dragged him along behind her was more like it — but that was personal and private. "All that has changed between us has been at her behest."

"And you go along with this?" Impa asked, raising her wizened brow. "You placidly allow her to flout centuries of protocol?"

"No," Link responded. He curled his fingers towards his palms, then said softly, "But she does it anyway."

"Hmm," Impa said. She thought long and deep for several moments.

"Our princess," the old Sheikah finally said, "has a strong spirit. Few could have endured what she endured. So I will not forbid you from allowing this… entanglement… to continue," the old woman said.

As if you could stop me, Link thought, but didn't let the thought show on his face. When it came to his princess, nobody could stop him from pursuing every last avenue for her happiness — none but her.

"However, take heed of this warning." The old woman folded her hands before her. "Your death transformed her. It was not only the key that unlocked her powers, but the force that drove her to contain Calamity Ganon for a century. If you were to ask her about it, I am quite certain that she would respond that she did what duty to her kingdom and her bloodline dictated. But I suspect that what she did, and how long she fought, was not driven by duty." Impa looked at Link solemnly. "Do you understand what I am saying?"

"You believe she did it for me," Link said bluntly.

"Just so," the old woman agreed, inclining her head. The charms sewn to the brim of her hat swayed, reflecting the cold firelight. "Treat her kindly. Do not feel that you must reciprocate any feelings she has for you out of a sense of duty. That will only lead to her pain. But neither should you use duty as a rebuff of her advances if you have in your heart the same feeling she has for you."

Link stared at the old woman, puzzling through the unexpected advice.

"I won't hurt her," he finally said.

"My dear boy — and you are just a boy, still, for all that you're over a hundred years old — there are many ways of hurting people," the old woman said pityingly. "You have already hurt her before, and you will do so again. Choose carefully the manner in which you inflict pain. Some hurts are far more easily healed than others."

Link didn't understand, but Impa didn't want to wait for enlightenment to come.

"Go," she told him. "Make your preparations for departure. And heed well my words."

Had Link spoken so formally a hundred years ago, he wondered as he walked back out into the snow. He didn't think so.

Still puzzling over this thought, he went back to the headwoman's house. He and his princess had packed most of their things in preparation for travel, but there was still a little work left to do. Link cleaned the house, scouring it for little odds and ends that he or Zelda might have forgotten, and slipped these items into their packs. It was as he was beating out the sleeping futons that his princess returned from the bath house, bundled up against the cold, the tip of her nose pink above the scarf wrapped around her head.

"Ready to go?" she asked him, voice muffled, hoisting the strap of her pack over one slender shoulder.

"Couldn't be readier," he agreed, settling his own pack on his back. He glanced around one last time, then reached out his hand for his princess as she pulled the Sheikah Slate off her hip. He held on to her shoulders as she triggered the warp, felt the eerie dissolving sensation, and moments later they re-materialized on the landing platform of the Myahm Agana shrine.

Hateno was lovely in the winter. It looked like a storybook illustration of a winter village — Link wondered where that particular memory had come from — with its stone and stucco houses all blanketed in snow. The drifts around the shrine were deep, and Link and Zelda waded through the snow until they got to the harder-packed thoroughfare. It was a quick walk to the house from there, and smoke was puffing cheerily out of the chimney. Link sent another prayer to Hylia in thanks for Purah, and escorted his lady inside.

"Whew," Zelda exhaled, dropping her pack unceremoniously inside the doorway. She stood under the awning with Link, shaking the snow off, before she followed her belongings inside. She padded across the floor in her stockinged feet, her snow trousers bunching bulkily as she walked. "It's good to be home."

Home. The word lit Link with warmth from the inside out.

"It is," he agreed as he entered, sufficiently de-snowed.

"You've made some changes to the place," his princess observed.

He had. He'd walled in much of the loft so it was a bedroom, a true private space. He'd also had a privy and a small closet installed where the storage shed had been before. A new storage shed, this one made of sturdy stone, stood near the pond. A second sleeping area, closed off with a curtain, wrapped behind the chimney. It would be wonderfully warm in the winter weather.

"It's nothing big," Link said, though he didn't like to think of how much that second room (or the shed, for that matter) had cost. "Just a few small modifications to make the place more comfortable."

"Small modifications," his princess said with an unladylike snort. "And the restoration of Castle Town and Hyrule Castle will be just a little undertaking. Link, you have a skill for understatement."

"Have a look around," he told his princess. "Choose the space you'd like to sleep in."

"Hmm," Zelda said. She padded to the sleeping area behind the chimney and admired its new, small window. She reviewed her previous accommodations, tapping a finger against the thick wooden wall, then returned to the area behind the chimney.

"It's smaller," she said, "but I think this should be sufficiently warm for me."

"I'll take the loft, then," Link said, suppressing a grin — he'd thought she'd choose the chimney room.

In addition to the new areas of the house, Bolson had built new furniture at Link's request. A soft bed for his princess waited in the chimney room, as did an armoire for her things. Another armoire waited for Link upstairs in the loft room, and he quickly unpacked his things into the sturdy wooden structure. Back downstairs, the princess was admiring some of the other new additions to the house — ceramic plates, bowls, and cups, a lace doily on the sideboard, a rug on the carpet before the fire, where two rocking chairs sat side-by-side. Much of what she'd admired at the fall festival was there, thanks to discrete inquiries by one tiny Sheikah. She was quite happy to help Link as long as he continued to send her parts he'd scavenged from the Guardians he and his princess visited.

"Link," Zelda said, half frustrated, half delighted. "You didn't need to do all of this for me."

Link grinned.

"Who said I did it for you?" he asked, hefting his weapons. The master sword and his shield went onto their racks by the door — gear still hung everywhere, of course — and Link watched as his princess settled into one of the rocking chairs, propping her stockinged feet on one of the footstools.

"Mmm," Zelda said, leaning back and closing her eyes. There was a hole in the big toe of her right stocking. She wiggled it in the direction of the fire. "Link, I do believe I won't be leaving here when it's time to go to Rito. The world will simply have to carry on without us, for I do not plan to remove myself from this chair."

"That's a shame," Link grunted, pulling the chest out from under the stairs. "Because I have another surprise for you."

"What? Another one?" the princess asked, not opening her eyes. "You spoil me, Sir Knight."

"I missed a couple of birthdays in there," he said, hefting the chest and carrying it across the room. He deposited it at his princess's side with an exhausted chuff. "I hope this makes up for it. Open it."

His princess opened her eyes, then looked down at the chest. It was stamped with the royal insignia. Her expression melted from contentment into something more complicated. She looked both hopeful and afraid as she looked back up at him, searching his face.

"I lied, that day I came back late," he told her. "I wasn't here making arrangements. I was off retrieving this for you. Go on — open it up."

She withdrew one leg, then the other, from the footrest. She slid off her chair and crouched before the chest. She pressed the pads of her fingers against the lock, and it snicked open.

"Oh," she said, pulling the books out from the chest.

"The elements weren't kind to your father's library," Link told her. "But I was able to find these for you. That's his journal," Link added as his princess withdrew the book from the chest with shaking fingers. "I thought you might like to have it. I thought that it might… might help you."

She opened the journal. She looked down at the careful script, and her eyes filled with tears. She snapped the cover shut and pressed the book to her chest.

"Thank you," she told him, voice a whisper. She peered back into the chest, and her eyes widened.

"I found the chest itself in what must have once been the treasury," he told her. "Gold and gemstones. Some of the royal wealth — I plan to go back and retrieve more before looters get too brave."

"You've done too much for me already," his princess said, trailing her fingers through the glittering contents of the chest. They brushed against the burlap-wrapped items. "And what's this?"

Link grimaced.

"I thought you might need them," he responded. She peeled back the wrapping, and froze.

Crown, scepter, orb, all resting innocuously before her.

She exhaled. Her hands dropped to the symbols of her rank.

"These are ancient treasures of my family," she said softly, withdrawing the orb. "I thought them lost to the Calamity's ravages for certain. Link," she said, looking up at him. Her eyes were shining and full of tears. "How did you find these?"

"They were in that chest," he said. "I believe it was the work of the Goddess."

"Yes," Zelda said softly, laying her treasures back in their wrappings. She shut the lid of the chest with reverent hands, then rose. "It must be." She stepped up to him, looking shyly down at her clasped hands.

"I don't… I don't know quite how to thank you," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "You've done so much for me, and I have been so selfish. Even… even back before, you were always watching out for me, and I never thanked you for it. Not really. And for a long time, I was really awful to you."

"You were hurting," Link told her. "I was always honored that you felt safe enough with me to show that pain."

She sighed. She took another step forward, bringing their bodies flush with each other, and wrapped her arms around him. He embraced her back, nose buried in her hair. It smelled sweet and floral and uniquely like her. He breathed in contentedly. He was at peace.

He was only terrified it wouldn't last.

He didn't want to, but Link resolved to talk with his princess soon. There were still so many things that needed to be said, understandings they needed to come to before they began traveling, making guarantees and promises to Zelda's people. They would need to have clean hearts and no secrets — otherwise they would both be badly hurt.

But not tonight.

They stood with their arms around each other for a long time. At last, Link's princess pulled away from him, smiling sadly. She hadn't been crying, but the grief was still plain as day on her face.

"I think," she said, "that I might like to read my father's journal now."

"Alright," Link told her, releasing her gently. "Would you like me to come get you when it's time for dinner?"

She turned her face to his. She was so lovely, even in her heartbreak.

"Yes," she said. "I would like that very much." She knelt, grabbing the books and journals that Link had brought for her, and moved quietly back into her room, letting the curtains shut behind her with a quiet swish. Link looked after her for a moment, and then decided that no use would be gained from standing around like an oaf. Instead, he put his gear on, grabbed a bow and arrow, and went hunting for birds, thinking that drumsticks for dinner sounded delicious indeed.

Over the next few days, his princess read, and read, and read. Sometimes she stayed in her little room. Other days, she came and settled in a chair by the fire, thanking Link absently when he gave her a sandwich or some tea. She was preoccupied in the evenings, but a weight seemed to have lifted, giving her greater clarity about what had to be done.

Link's own father had been one of the king's personal guards, he had recalled in a sudden flash of insight when he went to gather firewood from the forest one chilly morning. He remembered doing this task with his father when he was a boy- and memories came flooding back. Link and his father had never spoken about their respective charges, though somehow Link's father had made it clear that, though the king was hard on his only daughter, he truly loved her, and acted only from concern.

On those snowy winter days, as he tromped around the woods, giving his princess her space, more memories came back in bits and pieces. Link's mother had been a lady-in-waiting to the queen, when Zelda's mother lived. Link had been an only child, but he'd had a younger cousin with whom he was close — Aryll, his mother's sister's daughter. Aryll hadn't lived to see the war. She'd drowned in a boating accident on Lake Hylia shortly before Link was appointed as his princess's protector.

Alone in the forest, blanketed with snow and the quiet of winter, Link grieved for the loved ones he hadn't known he'd lost.

Late one evening about a week after their arrival, Link cooked a large meal of salt grilled radishes and steaks that he'd pulled from the cold room under the storage shed. Hylian herbs and goat butter made the meal a delicious affair, and Link had even splurged on a bottle of wine down in the town. He laid the table for his princess, then called her to dinner.

"What's this?" she asked, looking at the spread.

"More of my memories have come back," he told her. "I thought it deserved a special meal."

Over their dinner, Link told her what he'd recalled. His father, tall and broad, with dark hair and a booming laugh. His mother, who he took after: slight, pale, and quiet. Memories of growing up near Zora's domain, childhood summers spent playing in the water with Mipha.

"It feels wrong," Link told his princess once they were quite a long way through the bottle of wine. They'd finished eating and relocated to their rockers before the fireplace. "It feels wrong that I didn't remember them."

"The sleep of restoration gives, and it takes," Zelda told him. "I am sorry I had to place you in it."

"Don't take the blame for my missing memories," he told her, topping up their wine glasses. "It was never your fault. None of it."

"But my powers…" she tried. She'd brought it up from time to time — the guilt she still carried. The wine had relaxed Link just enough that he felt comfortable interrupting.

"Hang that hat up, Zelda," he told her. "It wasn't your fault. You did everything you believed you were supposed to do. You had no way of knowing that your powers would be triggered by emotion rather than prayer."

She frowned, but didn't argue. She studied the wine in her goblet.

"What did Impa want to talk to you about?" she asked him, turning the brass goblet one way and then the other in the firelight.

"Protocol," Link said with a sigh. "And how we're not following it."

"Why would Impa care about stuffy old rules?" the princess asked.

Link thought about telling her the full extent of their conversation, and decided against it.

"She doesn't," he said. "She said she's fine with it as long as we keep ourselves formal when we're around others."

"Oh," Zelda said, sounding surprised. She sighed. "Good."

They rocked in their chairs, which creaked quietly. The fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth. Link decided that there was no time like the present for uncomfortable talk. They were both mellow with good food and a small amount of wine. If they were going to have a difficult conversation, now would be the best time.

"Returning to the subject of your powers. Can we revisit the fact," he said, forcing his voice to stay mellow, "that your powers only appeared when you threw yourself in front of a Guardian to protect me?"

Beside him, Zelda stilled in her rocker.

"What brings this up?" she asked him quietly.

Link shrugged, shutting his eyes and assuming a deliberately relaxed posture.

"It's something that's been on my mind," he told her. "I want to understand what happened."

Zelda released a shaky sigh. Then set her goblet down on the small table that sat between them with a soft thump.

"I knew if you died," she said, "that all hope would be lost. My father, the Champions— they were already lost, and my heart was broken. But I knew that as long as you could still fight, that we would have a chance of defeating the Calamity. And… I'd already lost so many people who I cared about. I couldn't lose you, too."

"I see," Link said. He rocked a little bit, back and forth, back and forth. But his princess didn't speak again. He sighed, opening his eyes, and looked at Zelda. "There's something else I need to give you."

"What is it?" she asked, watching as he rose from the rocking chair.

"You'll see soon enough," he told her.

He walked up the stairs to his room in the loft. In the bottom of his armoire, in the bottom of his pack, the worn shirt and trousers he'd found in the Shrine of Resurrection waited for him. Folded within them were Zelda's journals, stained on the corners with his blood. He grabbed the cloth bundle and walked back downstairs to where his princess waited.

"Here," he told her, handing her the bundle.

"Clothes?" she asked him, brows pulling together.

"In the clothes," he said.

Zelda unfolded the bundle and saw her journals lying there.

"Oh," she exhaled in surprise. She ran her fingers over the worn leather cover of her research journal. "I hadn't even remembered these. Why did you wait to give them to me?" she asked, looking up at Link. "Why hold them apart from the other books?"

"Because," Link said, choosing his words carefully. "I've had them longer. I… when I fought Ganon, those books were with me. I wanted to face him with your words beside my heart. That's why there's blood on them."

She sighed, running her fingers across the stains.

"I see," she said softly. She caressed her research journal, then lifted her personal diary and flipped through it with a sad smile. "I assume you intruded grossly upon my privacy and read these?"

"I did," Link agreed. "But only once, and that was when I found them. I wanted strength, and thought your words might bring it to me."

She'd paused, looking down at one entry — the day he had saved her from the Yiga. He'd only read it once, but every word, every frustrated scribble, every flourished letter had burned itself onto his memory.

"Did they?" she asked softly, smoothing the page with pale fingers. "Did they give you strength?"

"They did," Link said. "It was a good reminder of what I was fighting for."

She smiled sadly.

"My journals inspired you to save Hyrule?" she asked, raising a blonde brow.

"No," Link responded, resettling himself in his rocking chair. His heart thudded. But he'd decided to bare it all, and by Hylia, that was what he would do. "My first duty, my only duty, has always been to you. The burden of the Master Sword was a heavy one to bear, but it was lightened by the fact that I would wield it only in your service. For you, and none other."

She was silent for a long time.

"Did you always feel this way?" she asked him softly.

Link paused, thinking.

"Not at first," he said. "At first, it was… duty. Following in the family trade, as you pointed out once. It was an honor when I was chosen by the sword. An honor for my family. Doubly so when your father appointed me as your knight, even though you clearly didn't want me anywhere near you."

"You must have found me very childish," she said, voice subdued.

"I found you brave," Link told her. "Your dedication to your role in what was to come, your involvement in the research. Other people might have sat back on their laurels, and been demanding or asked for special treatment. But all you did, all you focused on, was helping people. Contributing in any way you could. I found that very admirable, and was glad that I had been appointed to serve you."

He paused.

"That day," he said. "The day I died. You begged with me to run and save myself. Pleaded with me to go. But I would never have done that. You were far too precious to leave defenseless. I was proud to fight to the death protecting you. When you stepped in front of me, I thought it was I who had failed you. Never the other way around."

His princess looked down. Her hands were fisted in her lap.

"You were always there," she told him. "I could always feel your eyes on me. Even when we were with others. I was the one you watched. I always thought it was because it was your duty."

Link shook his head and leaned back.

Silence stretched between them, as thick as taffy. Link's wine sat next to him, forgotten, as he gave his princess the time to parse through all he'd told her.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked finally, a quarter of an hour later.

"Why now?" Link asked. He turned to look at his princess. "We're full of good food, we've had enough wine to mellow us out — better when we're fat and happy than when we're cold and tired and hungry."

His princess smiled a little bit, then shook her head, muttering something that sounded like, "glutton."

"I mean," she said, "why tell me this at all? You always kept everything to yourself before. Why tell me this now?"

"Ah," Link said. He shut his eyes. "Rebuilding begins soon, and I didn't want to keep any secrets from you. I want you to go into this with a clean slate and a full understanding of where you stand with me- for no other reason than you'll need firm ground beneath you.

"And anyway, in that journal, you wrote that you wished to see what lay beneath the water. That you wanted me to unburden myself to you, and that you hoped you might be able to do the same. We'd barely begun to really know each other when everything happened. You'd only just started to trust me — not just as a warrior, but as a person." Link shrugged. "I really valued that. And I want you to know that I still care. That I'm still a safe person for you to unburden yourself to. And that I respect you enough to share my own thoughts with you, even or especially if that makes me vulnerable."

"I see," his princess said softly. She rocked in her chair a few times. Looked at her wine. Then, in a resolute motion, she threw it all back and stood up.

"If we're unburdening ourselves, I suppose I ought to speak my piece as well," she said. She began to pace before the fire, as she often did when she was agitated. Link watched her go.

"Those hundred years, when I was trapped in the castle — I wasn't just trapped in the castle, I was trapped inside Calamity Ganon. It was horrible. All I could do was pray, and hold on, and hope you'd come back to me. And it was a nightmare. A hundred years of waking nightmare. No sleep. No rest. I couldn't even move. Prayer was all I had. Prayer and my ties to you, which vanished the moment you freed me from the Calamity.

"It was so strange, being cut loose like that. In one moment, I was covered in hungry darkness, and your heartbeat was a drum beside my own. In the next, the world was around me, and the darkness was before me, and you were at my back as you always were. I sealed Ganon away. And then I didn't know what to do next. But there you were, just where you'd always been, as though you had never left. Or nothing had changed. But everything changed, Link. I got you killed. I thought you would hate me. But you didn't. You stayed with me, through all of it. And when I wanted you with me, there you were. Just over my shoulder, like always."

She paused, taking a deep breath. She relaxed her hands deliberately, but they fisted once more as she resumed pacing.

"And the worst of it is, even though I miss them all — our friends my father — I haven't been lonely. Because I've had you with me. I feel like I have no right finding happiness in your presence when it's my fault — my fault that the others…"

Her breath hitched. She covered her face with her hands for a moment, gathering herself. Link waited.

"And then what you said to me — about them wanting us to live… I want to live, Link. I want to find joy and friendship with the people around me. But the others, all they want is my throne. All I have is you."

"Prince Sidon and Lady Riju will do right by you," Link said offhandedly. "They'd be your friends if you could get them without their dratted advisors. As would Teba of the Rito or Yunobo of the Gorons — he's actually one of Daruk's descendants."

"Those were the four who helped you get into the Divine beasts," Zelda said. "I'll make sure to focus on acquainting myself with them when we begin our travels."

Link nodded.

"But this brings me to a second problem, one to which I've been turning my thoughts frequently," his princess continued. Her voice, Link was surprised to note, was shaking. "The matter of my throne and lineage."

Link didn't know what to say. So he said nothing.

"The problem, which you have seen for yourself, is that I am seen as a crown up for grabs. And regardless of the agreement we reached with the other races during our earlier meeting, I am concerned that they will continue to treat me as a prize to be won."

She inhaled, then exhaled.

"I have come to the conclusion," she continued, "that my best recourse is to marry someone to whom nobody will have any objections. And, to forestall potential international chaos by rebuffing the advances of foreign princes, I need to make that decision soon."

"I see," Link said, even though he didn't. From the way she smiled, Zelda knew it.

"I propose," she said, turning to face him and looking him squarely in the eye, "that we wed, Link."

He stared at her. She watched him, face inscrutable.

"I… what?" he finally stammered.

"Marriage, Link," his princess said again. She clasped her hands behind her back. "Be my consort. Remove the question of the crown from the equation so we may all focus on rebuilding, rather than political posturing and jockeying for a throne."

Link stared at her.

"I believe it would be a reasonable arrangement," she continued. Her voice was still wavering. "We have trust, and friendship. And all this talk of freely unburdening ourselves is most conducive to a strong marriage," she added. "And there's understanding. I understand what you experienced. You understand what I went through. Surely… all of these things could enable us to find some measure of happiness together."

She looked away from him then, as though she was afraid of his answer.

Link swallowed.

"I remember," he said, "once. Before. You were talking with Urbosa about marriage. You said you couldn't stand the thought of marrying without love being there." He took a deep breath. "I won't condemn you to that."

She looked at him for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was small and vulnerable.

"You don't think you could grow to love me?" she said quietly.

Link shut his eyes. Here it was — the last line between them.

He took a deep breath and stepped over the edge.

"I already do," he told her.

"Oh," she said. In the silence, Link felt his heart kick in his chest, as terrified as though he were facing Gannon once more. Finally, she spoke. "Well. In that case, I think we'll be just fine. The feeling is mutual, you know."

Link looked at her. She kept her back to him. His heart hammered in his chest. He didn't believe his ears.

"How long?" he finally asked her.

"How long have I loved you?" she responded. She spoke softly to the fire. "It came on gradually, but it started when you stepped between me and a Yiga blade. You were so intent upon my safety. So without a thought for yourself. I realized that I'd been wrong about you. And as I got to know you, I found that you had a special place in my heart. That was what opened my powers, I think. The prospect of losing you. Not Link the champion — Link the man that I loved."

"I see," Link said. He didn't move, still frantically trying to digest this new information.

"And you?" she asked, voice deceptively mild. She turned, eyes intent on his face. "How long for you?"

"Before, it began when you swore me in as your champion with all the pomp and ceremony. You clearly didn't want to, but you gave it your all. I admired that, and that was when I began to fall. I knew it for certain when you shouted at me not to follow you up on the hill that day," he added. "But I didn't dare name it until you stood in that meadow outside and informed me that the rules could go to hell because you needed my friendship more than my obedience. That was when I realized what I felt for you. And I had no idea what to do about it."

"Hmm," Zelda said. She stood before Link now. "Stand up," she told him. "There's something I need to do."

Legs unsteady beneath him — convinced this was a dream brought on by the wine — Link stood.

His princess dropped to one knee before him.

"Link," she said. "Hero of Hyrule. Chosen champion of the Goddess Hylia, and my own appointed knight. I ask you not as your princess, or as your duty, but as a woman asking a man. Will you marry me?"

Link looked down at her, her blonde hair gleaming in the firelight, her green eyes earnest. He dropped to his knees as well.

"Don't kneel," he told her. "Not to me. Where you go, I go. Always. And not because I have to," he added, "but because I love you. So stand up. And we'll do this proposal the proper way."

She laughed. It was a watery laugh, like she was holding back tears.

"There is no proper way, Link," she told him. She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him, and they both rolled to the floor. He was sure to shield her body from the impact with his own, pulling her down on top of him as their lips met.

If the kiss they'd shared at the harvest festival had been searing, this was a conflagration. Her soft lips were everywhere. He was whole in a way he'd never realized was possible — complete, after so long of being lonely.

They kissed for a long time, their hands roaming, each gasping or laughing as they discovered interesting new sensations. Some time later — a long time later, in fact — they pulled apart. Both were breathing heavily.

"Perhaps we should wait," she told him, her head pillowed against his chest. "Until Castle Town is rebuilt. Have the ceremony there."

"We are not," Link growled, his arms tightening around her waist, "going to wait, my princess. I'd marry you tomorrow if it weren't so important that we do the diplomacy part of it right."

She gave a breathy laugh. Then pushed up so she could look him in the eyes. She straddled his pelvis in a way that he found very interesting… but Link was nothing if not full of willpower and self-control.

"Why do you still call me that?" she asked him, pushing a golden strand of hair out of her face.

"My princess?" Link asked, his thumb moving on its own to caress the fabric that hid her skin from him. She shivered. "It's what you are. My princess. Mine, always and forever. From the beginning."

She dove forward and kissed him again, and somehow they rolled over until Link was on top of her. Their bodies slid against each other, sparking pleasure even through their clothes. She squirmed, trying to get closer, and ran her hot hands beneath his shirt.

"Link," she whispered. He groaned, stilling. Then he thunked his head down against the wooden floor, breathing heavily.

"We're going to need a chaperone," he told her miserably. "You're still the princess, and I don't think I'm going to be able to keep my hands to myself."

She sighed too, then wiggled.

"If you're not going to do anything interesting, you should get off me," she told him with a resigned pout. "You're quite heavy, you know."

With a short laugh, Link clambered off her. He stood, then gave his princess a hand up. When she was standing again, he really had no choice but to dip his head and kiss her once more. She threw her arms around him, leaning flush against him, then pulled back with a silly grin.

"Oh, Link," she said brightly. "You do make me happy."

They sat cuddled together before the fire for hours, talking and making plans. There was still so much to do: they needed the blessings of the four races, and of Impa. A venue would have to be selected, as well as a date. Token jewelry needed to be exchanged.

"Which reminds me," Link said, perking up. "Wait right here."

He pulled on his snowquill boots and dashed out of the house and around the corner to his storage shed. He opened it, grabbed the box he needed, and sprinted back home. It was freezing, the cold so sharp it cut through him like a knife. Shivering and shaking flakes out of his hair, he removed his boots and hurried back to where his princess waited, bemused, by the hearth.

"And what's this?" Zelda asked him as he handed her the slender box. It was square and shallow, made of desert stone and without ornamentation.

"Jewelry," he responded as his princess lifted the lid. "I want you to have it. It's not the ceremonial pendant for you to wear above your heart, but…" he shrugged as his princess looked down at the golden circlet set through with diamonds.

"You wore this," she said, running her fingers across the diamond circlet. "When you fought Calamity Ganon. I remember — you wore this. It glinted off your brow in the fire from the light arrows."

"The magic in it weakened the shots fired by nearby Guardians," Link said. "I forgot to take it off before my battle. It was made by a Gerudo woman — I've got some earrings from her, too, that will help you swim faster when we go to Zora's Domain."

"I see," Zelda said.

"Anyway, a princess needs a crown," he told her. "You can wear it when we visit the other races. Only you and I will know the significance. To everyone else, it'll look like a tiara."

His princess held the box out to him.

"I'd like you to put it on me," she told him, her green eyes serious. "It's your circlet."

"Very well," Link agreed. He lifted it with careful fingers, then settled the glinting metal on her brow. It looked as though it had been made just for her, shining against the glory of her hair.

"How do I look?" she asked him with a shy smile.

Link gazed back at her. His heart was full to bursting.

"Perfect," he responded.

They were married at midsummer, in a small ceremony in the mostly-restored Temple of Time.

In attendance were the newly appointed Champions: Prince Sidon of the Zora, Lady Riju of the Gerudo, Warrior Tebo of the Rito, and Warrior Yonobo of the Gorons. The ruling families of each of these peoples were there, as well as the families of the Champions. The Sheikah came out, as did the couple's friends from Hateno Village.

It was a very happy affair.

The wedding occurred in the morning. The afternoon and evening were a grand party much in the spirit of a certain Harvest Festival: eating and drinking, dancing, and displays of strength. The new Royal Consort put all the other warriors to shame, though Yonobo of the Gorons gave him a run for his rupees.

Down below them, in Central Hyrule, they could see the groundwork for the new Castle Town. It was vastly different from its previous incarnation: rather than rows and rows of orderly streets, five boroughs had been set up, each designed to be as hospitable to its populace as possible. Hylians, Rito, Zoras, Gorons, Gerudo: all would be welcome in Castle Town in this new era.

Link could hardly wait to see how his princess — now his wife — would shape this new world.

She had taken to ruling like a natural. Though she hadn't yet been crowned, and did not wish to be so until the work on Castle Town was complete, her people were already deferent to her. She was well-loved, and had shown a knack for ruling and compromise that promised she would be a wonderful Queen. And if many of her good ideas came from the man standing silently at her side — well, that, too, was a thing to be celebrated.

Though the couple preferred to reside in their little house in Hateno, it was deemed important that the princess and her chosen consort be at the center of the rebuilding efforts. A new home had been built up for the princess in remarkably little time, one that showed the craftsmanship of each race. It was large enough to house multiple visitors, with a formal sitting room, a private dining and living area, and two bedrooms. It was already referred to as The Little Palace, though the princess was far more often encountered walking amongst her people, her beloved at her side. At night, Link was always shuttled off to the other side of town — the Gerudo district, no less, where several very intimidating women kept an eye on him to make sure he didn't do anything dishonorable.

But tonight, he would go home with his wife.

At sundown, Link carried his bride up the hill and across the threshold of their home, in keeping with tradition. Also in keeping with tradition, they were escorted by their wedding guests, who laughed and cheered outside until their princess poked her head out a window, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and told them all loudly to go away. The Champions chased everyone off, then left to return to the celebrations so that the happy couple might enjoy some privacy.

"That," the princess said to her husband, panting happily some time after they'd tumbled into bed, "was worth the wait."

"I don't know," Link responded, rolling over in bed to grin at his wife. "Feels like a waste, you know? We could have been getting up to that all of this time. No wonder everyone locked me in with the scariest Gerudo they could find." He trailed a reverent finger down Zelda's arm, which was dewy with sweat and exertion. She swatted at him with a laugh, then told him to fetch her some water. He happily complied, content to fawn over his new wife. When he came back she'd propped herself up against the headboard. He came and settled in beside her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders.

"Link," she said, leaning into his embrace as she so often did. She tilted his head against his shoulder, setting her drinking cup aside so she could trail her fingers over the scars crisscrossing his body. "Thank you. For everything. I love you."

He smoothed his thumb over his shoulder, resting his cheek atop her head.

"I love you too," he said. The spirit of mischief rose in him, and he adjusted his arm around her, hand dangling a little lower, and grabbed sneakily at one perfect, rose-tipped mound of flesh.

His wife squawked, and immediately began to beat him with a pillow.

Their laughter echoed out over the night. On the edges of the party, the Champions heard it and smiled. The ghosts in their graves gave a sigh, and drifted off to rest.

The kingdom was at peace, and the princess was happy. Soon there would be a new castle, a new queen, and a new heir.

Life, at long last, was good.

 **The End.**

 **A/N:** Well now! I finished the game less than two weeks ago and vomited this sucker out immediately afterwards. I have to say, even with my job as a Real Grownup Content Writer, I think that scribbling down 30,000 words in under a week is a new record for me.

I wrote this story to address a few gaps that I worried about in Breath of the Wild — specifically, gaps in the narrative that I desperately wanted to see filled. What was Zelda up to for all those years that she was trapped in Hyrule Castle? And why did it take a century for Link to rejuvenate? How do you recover from something so traumatic, and how can you follow your heart when you have centuries of tradition keeping you from doing so?

I was particularly fascinated by the implied rules and courtly behavior we see in Link's memories in Breath of the Wild, which I gave the catchall term of Protocol. The Link we see in this story isn't a boy from the country or a goat herder who has never left his village: instead, he's a knight, from a family of knights. He has been raised with certain expectations and manners, fame on his shoulders, and a full understanding of the implications of his role in this world. I found Zelda's journal in Hyrule Castle to be of particular use when constructing this piece of writing, which is why it features so prominently in the plot and in Link's thoughts.

I took a few creative liberties, which I feel the need to explain to those of you who are still reading. In the very beginning of Breath of the Wild, King Rhoam describes the Guardians as automatons. But given that the Divine Beasts were unable to pilot themselves, and that people were seen extensively working with the Guardians in Link's memories, I thought it might add that nice twist of tragedy to widen the scope of sacrifice from the Champions to all of the soldiers of Hyrule. It would also explain why everyone was so thoroughly overwhelmed, and why Ganon's arrival was such a rout. All of Hyrule's warriors were turned against her.

I also took a few creative liberties with Hateno Village — specifically, the construction of Link's home — and the prevalence of hot springs in this world. While there are hot springs aplenty in this game, in my imagination the Kakariko hot springs were where the one tree is on the cliffs, east of the village, and the hot springs in Hateno were on the other side of the inn. In the game, Link's home has a chimney but no hearth, so I added one, rather than having him and Zelda do all their cooking outdoors. The storage shed is inaccessible in the game, so I decided to have Bolson incorporate it into the house as a water closet, and I also had him add a room behind the nonexistent fireplace. I like to think that he could do it handily, all while looking fabulous and spouting truly inspiring mottos for his business.

To step away from (mostly) canon writing and refer to the world of AU: I know that many of you have questions about my other writing. I tried to rework Ordinary Story, but I'm sad to say it's not salvageable. Nor should it be — I wrote it when I was a teenager, and now I'm an old married lady with a career and car payments and worlds more experience with constructing stories. However, I am excited to announce that there is a sequel to Into the Woods. It's long, but it's almost done. I hope to release it within the next year or so, alongside some exciting news about an original project I've been working on. So sign up for those author alerts, give me a little sugar in that review box, go read some of CrazygurlMadness's excellent new releases (and thank her for doing such a wonderful job proofreading this fic), and enjoy yourselves!

Life is good.

-L

 ** _A/N Update 7/22:_ ** I've gotten a few questions about some of the elements in this fic that have been repeated in others. For those who are unaware, much of what occurs in this fic has been drawn from cutscenes in the game. For example, when Link and Zelda decide to go to Zora's Domain to repair Vah Ruta, the dialogue and descriptions are actually lifted line-for-line from the special cutscene at the end of the game. The title of this fic, Throne of Nothing, is a reference to Memory 12, when King Rhoam quotes the castle gossip at Zelda in the hopes that it will spur her to action. These are just two examples of several elements I used to help build this story. While I hadn't originally intended to lift the curtain like this, I wanted to address the concerns of the people who pointed out the parallels between my fic and other post-BOTW stories. There's nobody stealing anything from anyone, don't worry. We're all just having a field day weaving in supporting comments from canon. If you've got more concerns, please PM me directly so I can respond in person. It's a lot harder to respond to anonymous reviews. :)


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